Warhammer: Adventures of the Two
by rocketmce
Summary: In a galaxy that is torn by war, where humanity is divided, and thirsting gods roam the space between reality, can two mortals lost to time change anything? OC/SI
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: None of this stuff is ours except our character's everything else belongs to Games Workshop. Wish it belonged to us though. I- I mean we would be rich. That and the Special Snowflake marines wouldn't exist.**

 **Beta: Robocop3301**

[-]

Elirom woke from his sleep, a shiver going down his spine - something that was nigh impossible for an Eldar, especially one such as him. He had woken from a dream, or rather, a vision. One where the fate of the Eldar - no, the galaxy, rested upon the shoulders of two young _mon'keigh!_

This fact did not sit well within Elirom's soul. That two mere _children_ would decide the fate of the galaxy. Nonetheless, he could not ignore his vision, and as such, he would bring it before the council on his craft world of Aurorum-III.

Entering the chamber, he bowed slowly before the elders, "I bring forth a vision, elders, one that concerns the fate of the galaxy." Elirom spoke in his native tongue.

"What do you bring us farseer?" One of the elders asked.

"I saw a vision. One where the warp consumed all, where the eye of terror expanded, and where she-who-thirsts sits atop a throne of soulstones."

The elders started to rise in an uproar, some arguing over where to strike first, and some arguing if they should leave the galaxy entirely.

"SILENCE!" The head elder commanded, both in voice and in mind.

The deafening quiet that fell over the council was all but instant, "What else is in your vision? Farseer?"

"The end of the galaxy, but perhaps, it's saviors." This made the Eldar mutter among themselves, before Elirom continued, "Two young mon'keigh, ones not of this, or any galaxy, torn from their time, from their home, brought here from forces beyond control."

This brought an even greater uproar than the last, as the various elders cried out at the thought of the Elder race in the hands of humans.

"How is this possible?" One asked.

"As I said, they do not belong to this galaxy. What they are capable of I am not sure. But I know that they are powerful, wise, and above all, honorable…"

[-]

"WHAT THE **** IS GOING ON?!" A young man yelled, as he felt himself and his comrade being dragged through a portal.

The man in question was a tall, skinny, long brown haired twenty year old. He wore simple blue jeans and sneakers, with a plain black t-shirt with a pocket. On his belt a pocket knife was clipped, but little else was visible on his person.

His comrade, who was also being pulled through the portal, was a short, skinny, short brown haired man with glasses, being around the same age as his companion. He wore blue jeans, with black and white striped running shoes, and wore a plain red shirt with a red hoodie-sweatshirt over it. He carried a backpack, filled with miscellaneous books and school supplies.

These two, were Michael and Jarod, respectively.

The two men fell through the reddish brown portal for several minutes, before coming out the other end and flopping onto a hill covered in green grass, with a clear blue sky… and two full moons.

"Normally, I would criticize your language," Jarod said as the two of them got up off the ground, "but as of what just happened, I forgive you."

It was soon after Jarod made his comment, that they turned around to see that they were standing on the undamaged half of the valley they were in. The other half, which the were now facing, was covered in fire, blood, and human corpses.

"What. The. Actual. Crap." both said in unison.

There was very little life in the valley, but they heard the sounds of explosions in the distance, confirming that the battle was still going on, even if it was far from visible.

Michael quickly reached down to grab his knife, for what good it would do.

"What… what happened here?" Michael asked.

"A fight, obviously." Jarod retorted.

"Yeah, no duh, but who was fighting?"

The two of them wandered into the battlefield, leaving footprints in the ash. They came across a corpse rather quickly, it wore some kind of armor, but said armor was covered in burn marks. His eyes wide open, frozen in fear. Michael reached down, and closed the soldiers eyes. Reaching elsewhere on the body, he found an emblem on the pauldron.

Shocked at what he was seeing, he turned to his friend, "Hey Jarod, do you recognize this?" Michael asked, lifting the emblem into view.

Eyes jumping out of their sockets, Jarod could not believe what he was seeing, "Ah, Hell. I'm gonna go drink heavily and bang my head against a wall in a very safe corner, where I can hide. See you in five thousand years." Jarod responded, turning around and taking a few steps in a random direction.

The emblem in question, was a golden eagle. The Imperial Aquila. The symbol of the Imperium of man.

The corpses eyes suddenly opened, and the man gasped for air, grabbing the base of his neck, panicked.

"HOLY-!" Both Michael and Jarod cried out in surprise, Jarod slipping on a fallen pistol laying in the ash.

The mans gasping slowed, and he felt his torso and arms, "Dude, are you ok!?" Michael asked. The soldier looked. From his own body to the two standing over him.

"Wha… who are you? Where are we?" He asked.

As Jarod got up and dusted himself off, he and Michael exchanged looks, before turning back to the soldier, "I'm Michael, and this is Jarod, as for where we are… we have no idea." Michael answered.

The soldier closed his eyes and put his hand on his face, trying to figure out what was going on.

"You ok dude?" Jarod asked.

The man opened his eyes again, before glancing up at the two, "I believe so. Though, I don't know how well I could stand." He answered.

Michael offered a hand, which the soldier gladly accepted. Heaving him up, the soldier stumbled, with Michael grabbing onto him, helping him balance.

"Th-thank you." The soldier said, "As you have told me your names, I believe I should tell you mine. I am Richard, of Talos-III." He explained.

"Well Richard of Talos-III, thanks for introducing yourself." Jarod thanked him, "Now, how much do you remember? 'Cause right now, we're standing in a corpse field."

Richard's eyes widened, before he looked around at the scenery around him. Scorched husks of vehicles, blacked human bodies, and collapsed structures, "Oh Emperor…"

"I… I remember we were stationed here… to defend… I don't remember, we were supposed to defend, but what we were defending and were defending it from I cannot remember." He explained.

"Well, I'm pretty sure whatever you were defending, probably isn't worth defending at this point." Jarod stated.

Richard nodded dumbly, before continuing, "We had set up defences around whatever it was, when we were attacked by daemons and cultists. I don't remember how long it was, but It seemed I… passed out." He finished.

"I don't know if passed out would accurately describe it my friend, your eyes were wide open, and you weren't breathing." Michael explained.

Richards eyes widened, as he thought about it, but said little.

"In any case, there's still fighting going on." Jarod explained, "So more than likely, your regiments probably still around."

Richard nodded, "I believe I may be able to stand now." He quickly stood up, after leaning on Michael for support, "In any case. We should get to my regiment. I don't know why you civilians are here, but I appreciate the help."

Michael and Jarod glanced at each other, "Civilians… right." Jarod answered.

Richard began to feel around on his person, before asking, "Would either of you know where my lasgun went?" He asked sheepishly.

Michael rolled his eyes, "We might as well loot the corpses, they're not going anywhere." He suggested.

"Agreed." Jarod stated.

Richard raised an eyebrow, unsure of what he thought of his saviors suggestion, but in the end, he agreed. The three of them scoured the battlefield, with Michael and Jarod finding and equipping some fairly undamaged flak armor.

"Isn't this stuff useless?" Michael inquired.

"Yeah, but it'll take one, maybe two las-rounds before you get killed." Jarod responded.

They also picked up several lasguns, as well as several filled batteries. They also found a couple of las-pistols, which they gladly equipped along with the rest of their gear. Jarod still wore his backpack, and when asked about it by Richard, he simply said it had "essential materials" in it.

"As much as I loathe to admit it, we look awesome in this gear," Michael commented.

This brought a laugh from the other two, temporarily distracting them from the death and destruction around them. Soon after they finished equipping, (read: looting dead bodies) they headed toward the sounds of explosions and las-fire.

It took them several minutes for them to even see what they would be fighting, but when they did see it, it made their stomachs churn. Among the massive hoard of cultists, was a giant mass of tentacles and teeth. A daemon.

"Well crud." was the collective response of the three humans. Jarod, in a move of self preservation, tried to run in the opposite direction. Richard tried to charge towards the daemon, ready to scream 'THE EMPEROR PROTECTS' before getting eaten by the daemon. Michael grabs both of them by the collars, keeping them from doing either. Both turned around to look at him, Jarod looked at him with a face that read 'WTF' and Richard looked like he was ready to blow his head off. And considering he had aimed his lasgun at him, he probably wasn't far from doing so.

"Look, I know what both of you are going to do. Jarod, we're in the imperium. Now is not the time to use common sense," Michael explained, "And Richard, don't go getting yourself killed. I need your blood to stay in your body."

Jarod grumbled, "it isn't common sense… its instinct." Quickly muttering 'traitor' under his breath.

Richard growled, but was otherwise compliant, "Then what would you suggest we do?" He asked.

Michael smiled.

[-]

This was quite possibly, the worst idea, of all time… was what Richard was thinking. Jarod was fairly complacent, as the plan was rather tame coming from someone in Michael's family, and even more so considering they were in the 41st millennium.

The plan was thus: part one; get into friendly lines, part two; rig up some kind of explosive, part three; toss said explosive, hope it blows up the daemon. Fairly simple plan, with a hopefully simple outcome.

Part one was what they were currently doing, and was quite possibly the most difficult part. Crouching next to a near destroyed wall, they moved as fast as possible. A stray las bolt would hit near them now and again, but at least they weren't under tank fire.

"Do either of you have any idea if this plan will even work?!" Richard whisper-yelled as he stepped over a heretics corpse.

"Nope. But if it doesn't, we're screwed." Jarod answered.

"I thank the both of you for your confidence in my abilities." Michael snarked back.

Before they reached the edge of the building, a hand reached up from the ground and grabbed Michael's ankle, causing the three of them to fire their weapons upon the one that the hand was attached to. Once they were finished, they saw the… admittedly very burnt, corpse.

"We really need to be more careful…" Jarod remarked in an exhausted tone.

The three companions reached the edge of the building quite quickly after that endeavor, and saw that the friendly lines were not far, only a few hundred feet. There was one tiny problem though.

"There's absolutely no cover!" Jarod stated, "It's a no-man's land! The second we go out there, we get shot by our guys, or we get shot by the guys shooting at them."

The no-man's land in question, was flooded with las-fire and corpses, with heretics firing on the guardsmen. There were a number of explosions going off, some landing uncomfortably close to their position.

"We're going to die out here…" Richard said pessimistically.

"No, no we're not." Michael assured him, scanning the field, "Look, we've got a straight shot, if we book it and run, screaming 'for the emperor' or whatever, we can probably keep from getting shot by our own guys."

When Jarod and Richard looked themselves, they saw that he was right. There was virtually nothing between them, and the friendly lines. However, there were plenty of heretics firing upon and charging friendly lines, which might complicate things.

"Fine, we'll commit suicide." Jarod snarked.

On the count of three, they breached their cover, all screaming 'FOR THE EMPEROR' as they crossed the distance. One hundred meters, a cultist jumped up in their path, before getting shot by someone from friendly lines.

Fifty meters, a pair of cultists reached and grabbed Jarod's feet, tripping him. They were soon shot by Michael and Richard, steaming holes being left in their heads.

Twenty meters, a tank shell went off next to them, showering them with dirt and blood.

Ten meters, the friendlies open relentless fire behind them, where several cultists were chasing them.

Five meters, a las-round nocked Michaels helmet off of his head, which he promptly ignored, choosing to keep running.

One meter, each of them dives into the trenches, narrowly avoiding the shrapnel from a grenade explosion.

"HECK YEAH!" Jarod screamed as he pressed his back against the trench wall, "We made it!"

"PRIVATE!" A voice yelled. Turning to look at the voice, the three saw a commissar, wearing a cap and holding a sword in his hand stomping towards them.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU DOING BEHIND ENEMY LINES!?" The man yelled as he stood over Richards form, which seemed much smaller in comparison.

"Sir! I was incapacitated, these civilians brought me back, Sir!" Richard responded timidly.

The commissar turned his attention to Jarod, who was leaning against the wall of the trench, "And what the flying **** are CIVILIANS doing in a WAR ZONE!?" He yelled.

Jarod responded quickly, not wanting to anger an already irritated commissar "I have no idea, one minute, I was walk-"

The commissar pointed his bolt-pistol at Jarod's head, interrupting him, "I DON'T GIVE TWO ****'S ABOUT WHAT YOU WERE DOING BEFORE! I WANT-" the commissar quickly went silent, when someone hit him in the back of his head, knocking him unconscious. When he fell to the ground, everyone in the area saw Michael standing over his crumpled and snoring form, holding his lasgun by the barrel, after slamming the butt of it into the commissar's head.

Looking around, Michael shrugged, "What? he was going to shoot my friend." He said, explaining his fairly simple logic.

Richard just stared dumbly at his companions, being so nonchalant about having just _knocked a commissar unconscious!_

"What in the name of the Emperor! Do you realize what you just did?!" Richard chistized Michael.

Michael once again, shrugged, "I hit a commissar in the back of the head with my lasgun, keeping him from shooting my friend."

Richard stood there, jaw looking like it was about to fall off.

"Hey Michael, have you looked at the battery packs for these things?" Jarod asked, ignoring Richard.

"No, why?"

"Look at this," Jarod said as he pointed to the side of a new battery pack, which had two switches on it. Both switches were set to the middle, where it was marked with a + and - symbols. Either side of the switch were pairs of the symbols. Jarod flipped one switch to the ++ side, and the other to the - side. Once he did that, the power pack started to hum slightly.

Putting the pack into his lasgun, he poked up over the edge of the trench and took aim at a cultist who was charging their lines. Pulling the trigger, the following beam of white light slammed into the cultist, punching a hole completely through his body, which dropped to the ground immediately after.

"Holy crap! Why isn't everyone using these packs!?" Jarod exclaimed as he ducked back into cover.

The daemon from further down the line interrupted any further thought, as it tore through a tank, the resounding explosion killing many of the guardsmen fighting it.

"Great." Michael muttered as he looked at the fleshy mass, "Richard, grenade, Jarod, get me some power cells, and someone find me some duct tape!" He ordered.

[-]

What was his name… Jacob maybe? Not like it mattered, as a follower of Gramdfather Nurgle, names were unimportant. He threw another rock, hoping to hit one the cursed imperials. The rock landed with a resounding 'thunk' as the guardsmen he hit cursed loudly.

Jacob laughed, knowing that he'd hit his target. But, before he could do much more, one of the other servants charged, before getting a fist sized hole torn into his chest by a beam of fiery white light. The servant fell to the ground, never to move again.

What weapons were the imperial scum using now!? Surely a las-gun couldn't be _that_ powerful.

But soon, more and more of the shots taken at his fellow servants were of this new white light. Had the found a way to upgrade their weapons? Mid-battle no less?

Ignoring the deaths of the other servants, he snuck his way down the line, trying to get closer to Nurgle's daemon, as at that point, he would have a better chance of survival. Even considering that the daemon tended to eat servants from time to time, in order for it to gain mass.

His crouched walk was slow, but constant. Staying behind cover, and ignoring the screams of agony of his fellow servants, he finally reached his objective: the lesser daemon. Despite their prayers, Nurgle had only provided a lesser daemon for them to sic onto the imperials.

Nevertheless, Jacob watched in awe as the mass of flesh, teeth and bone tore through the imperial lines. It made him giddy with excitement. What he failed to notice, however, was one of the imperial guardsmen, a man wearing no helmet, climbed over the edge of the trench, dangerously close to the daemon. The man held a strange device in his hand, which looked lick a mass of duct tape wrapped around a stick and a grenade. Pulling the pin from the grenade, he threw it as hard as he dared before diving back into the trench.

The lesser daemon saw this strange lump flying at it, and opened its mouth and ate it. The imperial lines went near silent, as they saw the creature consume the device.

What followed, was a massive display of fire, gore and blood as the grenade went off inside the daemon, tearing it apart from the inside out. Jacob and his fellow servants were stunned, but had very little time to ponder the fact that they had just lost their biggest advantage against the imperials, as the guardsmen cheered, climbing up and over the trench wall and letting loose their weapons, killing cultists en-mass.

Jacobs smile fled from his face long before this however, as a stray las-bolt had just so happened to destroy his jaw.

Oh what a terrible day for the followers of Nurgle.

[-]

T'zeentch was… ecstatic! It had worked! His plan, having been set in motion for millenia, had finally bore fruit! Having set detail after detail into place, and having worked so greatly, he had finally accomplished his ultimate goal…

… the PERFECT Ham sandwich!

He was dead serious too. Before him laid, on a plate of pure wraithbone, two perfect slices of white bread, baked in a gas giants core. One slice of 5mm thick ham, down to the molecular level, warmed and toasted to perfection. One square slice of cheese, aged since the time before the humans corpse god. Lettuce harvested at the perfect nano-second, the perfect tint of green. Mayonnaise, made from the most precious vegetable oil in the galaxy.

Picking the sandwich up in his hands, he bit into it, tasting the pure perfection. Oh, and then there were the two humans he'd dragged from the past.

The two humans interested him, and while he ate his meal, he wondered what kind of adventures the two might embark on. He was finished soon after, the delicious meal now gone from existence.

Turning away from the wraithbone plate, he gazed into a crystal ball, and viewed what the two were doing. Perhaps they had gotten killed by some commissar, or had- wait did they actually kill one of Nurgles abominations?!

T'zeentch did a double take on what he was seeing. These two humans, from almost forty thousand years in the past, had somehow killed one of Nurgles creations. Oh, he was interested now.

What would these two have in store for the imperium of man?

[-]

 _*click click click*_

"Hey, what year is it?" Michael asked Richard. Michael was currently typing away at a dataslate, while sitting on his bunk wearing a white t-shirt and cargo pants.

Richard raised an eyebrow, "Do they not use the same dating system on this planet as the rest of the imperium?" He asked, looking up from his book.

Michael laughed embarrassingly while scratching the back of his head, "They did, but the civilians also used their own system, soooo…."

"Huh… well it's currently the year 985.M41, April 1st to be exact." Richard explained.

Michael looked up from the slate, and gave Jarod, who was sitting across the room, a very… fearful? Look.

Jarod proceeded to sigh and reach under his bunk, and pulled out a bottle of Rozvod, and began chugging it.

Richard looked at the two of them quizzically. Sure their situation wasn't the best, but he personally wouldn't blame them for being fearful if their situation. The life expectancy of a guardsmen wasn't exactly very long.

"Relax, stick with your squad and commander and you'll be fine." Richard assured them.

Michael and Jarod both dropped their distractions and glared and him, "Would that be how you ended up in the middle of the battlefield, half dead?" Michael asked.

Richard sighed. As much as he hated to admit it, even if they followed orders and didn't do anything wrong, they may very well find themselves on the wrong end of a las-gun.

"Personal experiences notwithstanding, just don't be stupid and follow the imperial codex and you will have the best chance of surviving." He explained before laying back on his bunk.

He heard a chuckle, and then two sets of full blown laughter. Getting back up, he spotted both ad the new recruits laughing their rear ends off!

"What in the Emperor's name is so funny?!" Richard asked, quite bemused.

"The… the imperial codex… says to stab… to stab an Ork twelve times in the throat to make sure its dead…" Michael said between bouts of laughter, "Sorry, but I'm not getting close enough to stab an ork I'm not 100% sure is dead, thank you very much."

Jarod held one finger towards the ceiling, "I concur, I would much rather keep my blood on the inside of my body."

Richard took in their bouts and insults to the imperial codex quite calmly… on the outside at least. On the inside, his brain was going haywire, trying to figure out why the two of them would openly insult the imperial codex, and if they did indeed know if such an order was in it.

He spent the rest if the day looking through the codex, and found that the more he read, the less sense it made. He even found the entry the two were referencing. He was bewildered at the overwhelming stupidity of the book, and wondered why he had thought it would help him during training… perhaps it was him having never been in a combat situation, and now that he had, he could see the folly if such a book.

He had woken up that morning believing that his life could only be as useful as the materials he was given. He went to bed that night being uncertain of his beliefs. Emperor help him.

[-]

With the days passing by, Michael and Jarod adjusted fairly well to guardsmen life. The Chaos cultists had been beaten back, and with the lesser daemon of nurgle being banished back to the warp, the moral of the cultists had been at an all time low.

For the Imperial guardsmen, the reverse was true. The weapons of the soldiers had been upgraded to the extreme thanks to the two civilians who had been recruited into their ranks. The one known as Jarod had managed to give the lasgun power cells an upgrade, making each shot worth a hundred of the previous versions.

Not only that, but Michael had managed to show them improvised weaponry, making grenades, traps, and even makeshift guns out of every-day supplies.

Soon, the days turned into weeks. With the guard regiment finally being able to wipe out the Nurgle cultists.

"About time we get shipped out! How long have we been on this planet now?" Michael asked.

Richard huffed, "It's been three weeks since you joined up, but it's been about two months since we were stationed here." He explained.

Michael hummed, wondering where they would go next.

Before they could get their orders however, the group spotted a large transport flying down to the landing pad that had been set up. Curious, the three headed to see what exactly was going on.

When they reached the landing pad, they saw an older man walking out of the transport, followed by a handful of older guardsmen. The old man was soon confronted by a commissar that had not been knocked unconscious by Michael.

"I see you have yet to leave, that's good." The older man remarked to the commissar.

"With all due respect my lord, what is a rogue trader doing this far within the imperiums borders?" The commissar asked, ignoring the comment.

The old man raised an eyebrow, "Well, to be specific I was going to head to one of the recruitment planets to reinforce my regiments, but with you here…" the old man grinned, "I do believe I will take two thousand five hundred and three of your finest men. All volunteers of course."

The commissar growled at the demand, "Absolutely not, We are short on men as is, and-

"We volunteer!" Two voices interrupted the commissar. The commissar turned to look at the two voices, finding the two civilians dragging along one of his men.

The older smiled with glee, "See? I have three volunteers already! Just two thousand five hundred to go." He said with a laugh.

The commissar grumbled, "Fine, I will get you your men." he said before walking off.

The old man continued to smile, before turning to his three volunteers and gesturing for them to come over, "Please! Come introduce yourselves! We'll be spending a great deal of time together after all." He said.

Jarod and Michael smiled, while Richard seemed complacent, "I'm Michael, and this is my partner Jarod, we'd be honored to be part of your crew!" Michael introduced.

The man turned to Richard, the young man looking up slightly, "I'm just here by proxy, they saved my life, and I'm kind of stuck with them as is. Might as well make sure they don't kill themselves." Richard explained.

"Well, I am glad to have you. As the first of the volunteers, you three shall be part of the first regiment, aboard my personal vessel, the Emperors Boot." He said with a smile.

Jarod held a bit of laughter in at hearing the ships name, but otherwise the two interdimensional travelers beamed with pride. Well, not so much pride as gratefulness that their life expectancies basically doubled.

[-]

 **A/N: Well, this is the second fic in the "Adventures of the two" series. This fic will basically have no update schedule, much like the Overlord one. Anywhere from a week, to a few months might pass between updates.**

 **Jarod: WHOO! WE'RE GOING TO BE SPACE PIRATES!**

 **Michael: Yes Jarod, We are going to be space pirates.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Welcome to chapter two of Warhammer 40k: adventures of the two! Before we start I would like people to know that this fic is now up on SpaceBattles as well, so if you prefer that platform you are more than welcome to read it there!**

 **Disclaimer: Warhammer 40k belongs to the blockheads at Games Workshop who thought Primaris was a good idea. Not us.**

 **Beta: Robocop3301. We're Back Baby!**

[-]

 **The Warp: Unknown time**

 **The borders of Nurgle and Khorne.**

"What deal do you wish to make, daemon?" the giant spat out the words as though they were venom, his hand gripping his power sword.

" **I do not make deals, wolf."** The giant, bloody, fiery figure stated, **"My word is my own, and what I say cannot be misconstrued."**

"Says the god of the ruinous powers! I have fought many of your servants, and I will not be deceived!" He yelled.

The giant flared, flames escaping from the gaps in his armor, **"Do not think I am of deception! I am the king of honor, justice, and war. Do not** _ **dare**_ **compare me to that blithering sorcerer!"** The figure yelled, heat flowing off of him.

"Then why aid us in our mission, in rescuing the tree?!" The wolf asked loudly, "There is always deception amongst you, and you will always have an ulterior motive!"

The giant flared again, gripping his massive, fiery orange blade, **"You are right in that I did not aid you out of generosity. But my motives are not for you to know."**

The figure waved his hand to the side, and a portal in the warp opened, **"This portal will take you to an imperial world. It is under attack from the abomination know as Slaanesh. Do not think you will be granted such generosity from him."**

[-]

 **Holy Terra: 999.M41**

 **The High Lords meeting chamber**

"We must deal with them. They are getting out of hand!" The Ecclesiarch stated.

"I do believe we are all acutely aware of that fact. But the inquisition cannot strike their own in a time such as this!" The Inquisitorial representative said, slamming a fist on the table,

"They are guilty of neither crime nor heresy, and if we tried to move against them we would have dozens of Astartes chapters storming Terra itself!" The Grand Provost Marshal added.

The fabricator-general clicked and screeched in binary, before speaking in his robotic voice, "They have committed tech-heresy on hundreds of occasions! Yet even the Iron Hands support their actions." 

"Then what can we do?!" The Ecclesiarch asked exasperated his hat reflecting how he felt, "We've sent agents of the assassinorum, and they have either been killed or turned to their side."

"We cannot afford to do such a thing again, and for the love of the Emperor would you please take off that RIDICULOUS hat Decius!" The Inquisitor yelled.

"NO! This is the holy uniform of the Adeptus Ministorum! It shall not be tarnished!"

 ***SLAM***

A Custodes in golden armor burst into the chamber, followed by several other Custodes in their… usual… attire, and some rather… interesting music.

"Captain-General!" The inquisitorial representative said in surprise.

"This meeting is now over," The Captain-General ordered, "The Inquisitor, the Fabricator General, and the Grandmaster of Assassins will be allowed to stay, everyone else must go!"

"What is the meaning of this?!" Decius asked, his hat standing on end.

The Captain-General turned to face the Ecclesiarch, "You are the one that is _least_ required here Ecclesiarch. Return to your chambers, and prepare for the times that come." He ordered ominously.

The many High Lords began to exit the room, many of them grudgingly so, but none were in any position to argue with the Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes.

"Now. With those ones out of the way… Fabricator General, will you please explain why you continue to associate yourself with those old and worn out hooligans? You may be as old as them, but you are augmented almost to my level."

The Fabricator General shook his head, "You still need someone to work with them, and my emotional circuits fried centuries ago." He explained, "I am without a doubt the best one to deal with them."

"Grand Master, would you please step out of the shadows?" The Custodes asked.

Stepping out from the corner of the room, as if appearing from thin air, the Grandmaster appeared, "Of course, Kitten." He said with a snicker.

The Custodes sighed, "I realize that is the name given to me by most, by must you say it with such contempt?" He asked.

The Grand Master said nothing. Sighing again, Kitten turned to the rest of them, "I assume you are aware of the reason you are gathered here?" He asked.

Everyone present nodded, "Well, I suppose we must discuss what will happen with the Rogue Inquisitor Jarodicus Carolinius. He has been changing the rules of the Imperium far faster than any have been able to in the past." he explained.

"What are we supposed to do about it? The Thirteenth Black Crusade is almost upon us and they have done nothing but prepare us for it!." The inquisitor said, "They may conspire with Xeno's, one of them may even be in an Emperor-be-damned RELATIONSHIP with one, but they are the only ones that have any hope in stopping it!"

The Custodes sighed, "We will do what we must, and at this time, it seems to assist them is our only option." He said with dismay.

The Fabricator General nodded, the Inquisitor groaned, and the Grand Master remained silent.

"With that out of the way then, I adjourn this meeting… Emperor protects us all."

[-]

 **The Warp: 985.M41**

 **Transit between Imperial space and unknown systems**

"Captains log!" the captain ordered, a beep signifying that his command was recognized, "It is the two hundred and second day of the year 985.M41, I have lived for three hundred and twenty-six years, and never in all that time did I imagine that I would ever find a worthy successor."

He reached into a cabinet and pulled out a bottle filled with red liquid and a clear glass, "He is smart, strong-willed, and more than capable of choosing his own path. His close friends can assure him of that." He said with a smile.

"It's strange," He started while pouring himself a glass of wine, "Not even a month ago I received a distress call from a planet facing the horrors of Chaos, only to find out when I arrived that the Guardsmen there had killed a Daemon of the warp! Ridiculous I am aware, but in hindsight, it is no surprise considering who my successor is." He took a sip from his wine.

"According to him he simply flipped the power pack of his lasgun, and the thing started shooting at an incredible efficiency. Many adepts would likely call him a Heretek, but I prefer the term, Innovator! He has increased the lifespan of all the guardsmen here by at least two wolves… er, that is his unit of measurement, not one of my own." He chugged the last of his glass.

"Last week was when he really impressed me though. I was aware that Ork technology was easily influenced but… well, his level of ingenuity is far above even my own." he sighed, "I intend on telling him in the next few days. He will make a fine successor, of that I am sure." He sat his glass down on his desk, "End log."

[-]

 **8 days earlier**

 **Calumis IV**

"I. AM. NOT. BULLETPROOF!" Jarod yelled as he drove away from the oncoming mass of gretchins chasing him, firing shootas and the bullets pinging off of the surrounding rocks.

The plan was oh so simple, lead the Orks down a ravine and then when they were all gathered there, push the giant creatures down into it and let them have at each other. Getting the Orks to follow Jarod was the easy part, the hard part was getting the creatures to fall into the ravine.

"Come on big fella," Michael coaxed the giant lizard, "Just step towards the Ravine… that's it come on… almost there…"

The giant reptilian screeched, twisting itself around and trying to run off, only to be pulled back by several Guardsmen holding it down with rope… many of which were still tripped up and fell on their faces.

Michael groaned again, before looking towards the rest of the troops under his command. They seemed to be having better luck than him as the rest of the lizards were now standing at the edge of the cliff. Looking down, he saw the wave of green heading towards them, with a single bike at the front of the pack.

Jarod had surprisingly volunteered to be chased by the orkoid hoard, even going so far as to pick out the vehicle he would use.

Michael reached out to his vox caster, who handed him the vox, "Richard! How's the other side of the ravine?" he asked.

Static came through the vox channel, before Richard's voice came through, _"We've got most of them in position Captain, they're not fond of the edge though. You think they know our plan?"_

"Eh, fifty-fifty. Though the one I'm standing next probably knows for sure." Michael said, the screech of the lizard giving credence to his statement.

Suddenly the vox sparked with activity, _"WHERE IS THE THUNDERHAWK!"_ Jarod yelled as he started driving towards the end of the ravine, where it widened out and dropped off a cliff.

"It should be there any second-" The aforementioned thunderhawk flew above Michaels' head, "-you'll have plenty of time."

Looking down into the ravine, he saw nothing but a mass of green, with a few pieces of grey metal and yellowish sparks of gunfire dotted about.

"Richard, the second Jarod is clear give the order to push them off the cliff. Understand?"

" _Yes, sir! Waiting on your command,"_

Jarod meanwhile was less than a hundred meters from the edge of the cliff when he says the thunderhawk finally pull up to the edge. The bike reached the edge, and as it flew off, Jarod jumped from it and grabbed the edge of the thunderhawk, hauling himself inside. Looking back, he saw dozens of Orks falling off the cliff's edge trying to chase after him, as well as the now lost bike tumbling into the ocean below.

Reaching his hand up to his vox bead, "I'm clear! Operation Lizard Blood is a go!" he called out.

Upon the cliff, the vax caster turned to Michael nodding his head, "Alright! Shove 'em off!" Michael yelled.

The guardsmen all along the ledge began pushing the giant lizards kicking and hissing off the edge of the cliff. The Lizards fell a good fifty meters down the cliff before they came crashing into the Ork horde. The Orks roared in joy, hacking and slashing at the giant creatures with their choppas and blasting them with their shootas.

The Lizards stomped dozens of Orks, killing them in droves before they finally fell, their enemies being covered in purple fluorescent blood. Eventually, the last lizard fell, letting out a gurgled cry as it crashed on top a mob of Orks, killing those that failed to get out of the way.

The Orks didn't seem to notice though, as many were covered in the purple paint-like blood.

"Oi! Boz! Where are ya' git?" An Ork called out.

"I'm over 'ere ya' git!"

The Ork turned, swinging his choppa in a wide arc and hitting another Ork it the face knocking him over, "Oi! Watch it ya' git! Ah can' see nuffin!" the aforementioned Ork cried out.

"Dat's cuz we all covered in purple! Da ting's bleed purple, and now we all stealfy loik." Another Ork explained.

The Orks continued their banter before many of them began fighting each other. The Guardsmen up on the cliff's edge readied their lasguns but were ordered to stand down.

"Let them kill each other, save us some ammo," Michael explained.

After a few minutes, the fighting started to die down, the orks numbers being cut down to a fifth of what they had been originally.

"Alright boys, let 'em have it!" Michael called out.

The hundreds of Guardsmen lining the cliffs began raining down lasfire, their modified Mars pattern lasgun's firing more powerful shots and tearing through Orks. Before long the ravine was emptied of all living Orks, and the guardsmen cheered. An entire Ork army defeated without a single guardsman dying. As far as the majority was concerned, the Emperor really was watching over them.

The guardsmen celebrated, returning to one of the major imperial cities on the planet. Using what few thrones each guardsman had, they managed to empty out many of the taverns in the city, with three full regiments downing enough combined alcohol to make a Space Wolf jealous.

"You know," Michael began as he put his mug of amesec down, "I never imagined amesec would be the first taste of alcohol."

Jarod let out a hearty laugh from across the table, Richard tilting his head in confusion, "You've never had alcohol before?" he asked surprised.

Michael shook his head, "Not once! Though I will say, I don't think I could get addicted to the stuff…" He said as he sniffed the mug.

Jarod chuckled, "Eh, could be worse. We could be drinking fermented Ork blood!"

Richard cringed, "I did not need to know that existed…"

Both the interdimensional travelers laughed.

Before long it came time for the regiments to leave the planet and return to the ship. Climbing onto the transports, they left the planet's surface in the hands of the planetary governor. When they returned to the Rogue Traders ship, they almost immediately left for their next destination, which according to their astropath, as an unexplored system that would take a few weeks to reach.

In the meantime, Michael and Jarod busied themselves with writing what they called, 'The Imperial Guard tactical Codex' which would be distributed among their troops. It wasn't actually tactics per se, as it was closer to a 'what not to do' as it detailed accounts of others mistakes and how they could have easily been avoided.

The first edition of the book went over rather well with the troops, as the text in it had already saved the lives of more than a few of their men.

As for how Michael and Jarod had risen in the ranks so quickly? They had basically been the first to volunteer, and they were basically building a regiment from the ground up, so they had started at the top. Several had argued their positions at first, but a handful of engagements with Orks and minimal casualties quieted any further disputes.

Now that they were back in the warp, there was little to do but wait for their arrival.

[-]

 **Aurorum-III: 985.M41**

Elirom sighed for the thousandth time since he had awoken from his vision. While he was thankful for the visions, he felt he would never truly understand what they meant. He saw visions of Aeldari and Mon'keigh fighting side-by-side against some greater threat, most likely of the warp-born variant.

While that was not completely unprecedented, the fact that they happened with such frequency disturbed him.

Walking down the wraithbone hallways of the craft world, he pondered his latest vision. In it, He saw his brethren of Aurorum-III under attack from a horde of Orks, their brutal tactics coming to bear upon them.

They were fighting a losing battle, but before they could fully lose, their soulstones forever lost, those same two Mon'keigh from his first vision appeared, and the tide was turned against the greenskins. With the help of the humans, the battle was one with speeds that should not have been possible, even with their assistance.

After the battle, he saw himself and the two human's conversing, though what his future-self was speaking to them about was lost on him, as the vision ended soon thereafter.

Elirom stumbled upon the Screaming Banshee Exarch as she also seemed to be deep in thought, "Exarch, It is good to see you roaming the halls here." he said with a warm smile.

The Banshee nodded, producing a smile of her own, albeit much colder than his own.

"The pleasure is mine Farseer. Might I ask what you are doing walking the halls?" She asked.

"Merely pondering my latest vision. It seems we may make contact with the Mon'keigh sooner than we had intended." He explained.

The Banshee grimaced, "Farseer, I am aware your visions have never led us astray but… are you so sure that these Mon'keigh will be the ones to help us?" she asked, clearly doubtful.

Elirom smiled, "I do believe that they will. If nothing else they will help us keep our brethren from being needlessly killed by other imperials. Though might I ask Exarch, why do you wish vehemently to be wrong?" He asked out of curiosity.

The Exarch frowned, "You know my opinions of the Mon'keigh, and you know my experience with them. I will not have them make our people suffer." She said.

Elirom nodded, "A sensible objective. Though I must ask that you restrain yourself when it concerns these two, as they harbor no ill will toward the Aeldari and only wish to help."

The Exarch walked past the Farseer, "If they make any move to harm any one of us, I will not hesitate to strike them down." she said before continuing on her path.

Elirom smiled, before turning to continue his walk. Isha knows what those two would do when they reached them, but he could only hope that whatever their plans, they would be beneficial to his craft world.

[-]

 **The Warp: 985.M41**

 **The Emperors Boot**

Jarod walked down the corridors of _The Emperors Boot_ idly glancing at the graffiti that covered the walls. Much of it was prayers to the Emperor, soldiers names, or just random images scrawled onto the wall.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't nervous that the Rogue Trader had called for _him specifically_. Granted he wasn't exactly afraid per se, but it wasn't as if he knew the man all that well. Yes they had spoken on several occasions and yes he did find the man rather agreeable, but he seemed to be one of the more extreme members of his kind.

While he hadn't exactly seen any chaotic symbolism or Xeno technology, there were many modifications to equipment and weapons that many among the Adeptus Mechanicus would consider tech-heresy.

That isn't to say that he would ever rat the man out - he fully supported any and all of the modifications he had seen thus far - but it was surprising. It was also worth mentioning that many of the Tech Adepts seemed at peace with the modifications and even seemed to be skipping out on a few of their incenses and rituals.

Shaking his head to clear his thoughts, he entered the office of the Rogue Trader. The room was well lit and was covered in shelves stacked with books, trinkets, and trophies. At the center of the room sat a desk where the man sat typing away at his personal cogitator. Jarod wondered if the man had noticed him, only for him to gesture to the seat at the other side of the desk before Jarod could speak.

Jarod sat in the chair, leaning back into it slightly. The Rogue Trader said nothing, continuing to type away as if ignoring him. Jarod opened his mouth to speak before the man in front of him interrupted his train of thought.

"You are probably wondering why I called for you."

Jarod nodded, "Yes sir."

The Rogue Trader stopped typing, "Don't ever call me sir again. You will either refer to me as Cap or Robert, do you understand?" He asked.

Jarod nodded, "Yes si- I mean yes Robert." Jarod said squirming in his seat.

Robert nodded, continuing to type.

Jarod took the time to look at the room around him. Several of the trophies on the many shelves seemed to be of Xeno origin, including a Tyranid skull, an Ork power klaw, and an Eldar helmet. How Robert had managed to get a hold of these was unknown to Jarod, however, he felt even more nervous as several minutes passed with nothing but the sound of Roberts typing echoing throughout the room.

Finally, Robert spoke.

"And done!" He said pressing a key, followed by the sound of parchment paper printing from a printer below the desk.

"You see Jarod, something that you learn when you live as long as I do, is that you are very mortal. I won't live forever, you won't live forever, even an Astartes can't reasonably hope to live forever." He explained, reaching down to the printed and stacking the many newly printed paper.

"And when you get to be someone of my standing - lots of money, lots of power, and no family to speak of - you find yourself with a problem."

"You don't have an heir." Jarod observed.

"Precisely! I knew you were observant." He said with a grin, "Anyway, I do not have an heir, And were I to simply just _die_ than my title would just go to some shmuck from Terra with no idea which end of a lasgun is the shooting end."

His grin widened as he passed the stack of papers to Jarod, "Which is exactly why you are being promoted."

Jarod hesitantly grabbed the documents and began reading them. His eyes bulged out of his head when he fully realized the implications of what Robert was saying.

"You… You want _me_ to take your place?!" Jarod asked, disbelief clear on his face.

Robert burst out laughing, "Of course I do! I haven't seen anyone deal with Orks like that since I first became captain, not to mention your little modifications with your lasguns!" He explained.

Jarod managed to get over his shock rather quickly, shaking his head and continuing to read the document. He blinked at the implications, before looking up to the Rogue Trader, "Well, I guess you just made me an offer I can't refuse."

[-]

 **A/N: And with that, chapter two of Warhammer 40k: AotT is done! Wow… I actually got this done a lot faster than intended. I guess finishing up a semester of college and job hunting will do that to you.**

 **And yes, POV's from different time periods WILL be a thing. And yes I set up a TON of Chekov's guns in this chapter, you can look forward to a lot of them going off very soon!**

 **Reviews!**

 **Bankerrtx01:** Not quite that, but your thinking on the right track ;)

 **Dawnlight09:** Glad you liked it, here you go!

 **Sly Marbo:** AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

 **Well, that's it for this chapter, looking forward to the next one!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: We don't own 40k.**

 **Beta: Robocop3301**

[-]

 **Aurorum-III: 976.M41**

"Run Savah!" the older Howling Banshee called out as she ducked behind cover.

Savah followed her sister's orders, turning and fleeing from the hail of bolter fire that came after her. She told herself that she was only doing to get help, to get more Aeldari to assist them. She would not see that plan come to fruition, however, as she soon found herself face-face with an Adeptus Astartes of the Space Wolves chapter.

The space wolf revved his chainsword, bring it down onto the Eldar, its teeth tearing through flesh and bone. When all was said and done, Savah of Aurorum-III knew no more. The space wolf growled, turning to the Howling Banshee who was standing frozen a few meters away, having just witnessed the death of her sister.

The space wolf once again hefted his chainsword, ready to cut down the next Xeno in his path. The Banshee gripped her blades before she let out a scream that would make almost anything within a hundred meters go deaf. The space wolf was undeterred, however, as he charged forward.

The Banshee rushed forward, ducking beneath the marines blade and stabbing a power sword into his joint. Quickly removing her blade, she twirled behind the space marine, before leaping upwards and landing on his back. Bringing her swords to bear, she stabbed them both into the marine's neck, severing his spine and causing him to fall to the ground.

Turning, she rushed to the side of her sibling's broken body. Her body had been torn from the shoulder to her stomach, almost cut in two. The banshee ripped off her sister's helmet, looking into her now dead eyes.

She wailed in sorrow, reaching for her sisters shining spirit stone. She held the blue gemstone close to her chest, tears falling from her face. She reached forward, closing the eyes on her sister's corpse, before standing to her feet and looking at the surrounding battlefield.

She saw the space marines that were left, the ones that had found her craftworld and were wreaking havoc upon her people. Looking down at the gem that housed her sister's soul, Salah swore that day that she would never forgive the Imperial Mon'keigh. They had attacked her home, killed her people, and had taken her sister from her.

Stashing the stone inside a pouch, she rushed forward to join the battle that was left. She would see the Imperials driven from her home if it was the last thing she did.

[-]

 **Holy Terra: 794.M41**

 **Rogue Trader coronation**

The coronation of Robert Carolinus as a Rogue Trader was something many people had seen coming from a mile away. He was a troublemaker in his teenage years, and he was still more effort than he was worth when the bureaucrats were concerned. So it came as no surprise when he was granted a title that would get him out of his family's hair.

He seemed to be aware of this fact as well, as he took it in stride and even had a ship ready before the coronation had a set date! When he walked up to the podium, he did so in a manner that made him seem almost as if he couldn't wait until he could finish it.

He was handed his Warrant of Trade, before skipping most of the formalities and running off to his ship. He left the star system, heading toward the edges of the Imperium and was never seen on Terra again.

This was not the end of his story, however.

He spent years gathering men, resources, and knowledge about the galaxy he lived in, even managing to learn of the ruinous powers of Chaos and how to combat them. He managed to gather himself a regiment of actual Guardsmen as well, before growing his army to three regiments not much later.

He traveled the galaxy, facing all the threats it had to offer. Whether they be Tyranids, Orks, Chaos, or any other form of enemy, he's fought them all.

It wasn't until the year 812.M41 that he faced his greatest challenge. Never before had he encountered the deadly Necrons, and he had just landed on a Necron tomb world.

[-]

 **Necron tomb world: 812.M41**

"Get that artillery set up!" Robert called to the man next to him, who immediately ran to follow that order.

They had landed on the planet, having no idea what would be on it. And when they found the Necrons, they found out just how tough they were. Whenever one would be blasted apart by a grenade, they would simply regenerate, get up, and keep moving forward.

Their weapons were nothing to sneeze at either, the hot green beams atomizing the flesh of the guardsmen.

"Sir!" A Guardsman called out, "They've breached the southern line and are heading this way!"

Robert cursed under his breath, "Alright, tell the troops to get ready to evacuate, I'll have transport on the way!" He said.

The guardsman nodded, running off to tell the others. Turning to look at the firing line before him, he saw that the Necrons barely seemed slowed by his men's lasfire, much less like they could be stopped by it.

Gripping the power sword at his waist, he marched up to the front of the line, standing at the edge of the trench and drawing his blade.

"Men!" He called out, "We are the only thing that stands between these Xenos and the line behind us! Should we fall, these monsters will have a clean shot at those trying to evacuate. The southern line has already been breached, so we are all that is left."

"But we will _not_ fall! We will stand strong!" A beam of green energy shot above the trench, missing Robert by less than a meter, "For those that cannot defend themselves! For those that do not know the enemy that is at their doorstep! FOR THE EMPEROR!"

The guardsmen roared, a new strength found in their souls as the amount of lasfire doubled down upon the Necrons. With their newfound vigor, they actually managed to halt the advance of the Necrons. They hadn't managed to push them back, but they weren't moving forward anymore.

Three long hours passed, with men dying all around Robert, and the Necrons gaining ground inch by bloody inch. Finally, he received word that the last of his forces were off the planet and that all that was left were him and the few hundred men left of the regiment he brought with him.

He smiled. Standing from his position in the trench, he called out to the men around him, "The transports are on their way! We only need to hold for a few minutes longer!"

The men cheered yet again, but with noticeably less enthusiasm. They were tired, wounded, and hungry. Robert knew that the news could not have come a moment later than it did, for if it had then his men might have not lasted until the transports arrived.

With utmost haste, the transports flew down from the skyline, narrowly dodging the beams from the Necrons. They landed quickly, guardsmen dashing into the safety of the transports. Robert himself stayed outside for as long as he could, trying to make sure as many men made it as possible.

Alas, not everyone made it off of that battlefield. Many were simply to slow, and did not reach the transports before they took off. Others were left behind, the transports to full of passengers, unable to carry anymore.

Looking out the closing doors of the transport, Robert witnessed dozens of men being cut down by the Necrons that now had no opposition. Robert cursed the Necrons, he cursed the planet that they were on, and he cursed himself for not seeing the signs of the planet being a Necron Tomb world.

If he had known, he would never have landed on the planet and simply called the Administratum. He sighed, knowing that he could not change the past, and perhaps, this event would allow him to better guide the future.

[-]

 **Mars: 967.M41**

Tech adept 23774, or Matthias to any non-mechanicus member, was beginning to get fed up with his superiors. His ideas were simply slight alterations to existing technology, not all out tech-heresy! He chuckled as he remembered his statement when he had first become a member of the Adeptus Mechanicus…

" _I will shoot myself with a lasgun before I even think of committing Tech-heresy!"_

He had been less open-minded then, much less than he was now. Granted he would still take off his own head before committing tech-heresy, but he would be lying if the thought of doing so had not crossed his mind over the years.

"23774, the Magos requires you to meet him." The Enginseer stated.

Mattias sighed, "Of course 34452, I will be there momentarily." He said.

Setting down his datapad which held his latest project, he headed up to the Magos' office. The walk through the halls of Mars was rather bland, the grey colored steel walls and floors were not eye-pleasing to most, but many among the Mechanicum felt that even this had its own form of beauty.

Matthias himself did not care for the dull grey color, though he did not have any better idea of what to make the walls out of so he did not voice his opinion.

He sighed as he passed another Tech adapt who glared in his direction. While he would not voice his opinion on things he did not have a solution for, he was more than happy to voice his complaints when he had a solution. Unfortunately, his solutions were rather unpopular.

Paraphrase the prayers to the Omnissiah and the Machine Spirits.

Stop lathering anything and everything in copious amounts of oil.

Use bigger pieces of metal instead of using hundreds of smaller ones!

Seriously, there's so much that could be fixed without it being Tech-heresy. In any case, Matthias made his way even further into the depths of Mars until he reached the Magos' office. Opening the door, he saw the Magos sitting at his desk plugged into the many machines that flowed through Mars.

" _23774\. Your production has been at 124.74% during the last 72 hours. Your resources were cut by 20% approximately 74 hours ago. Explain."_ the Magos spoke in Binary.

Matthias sighed inwardly. Yes, his resources had been cut, and he had been forced to get creative with the way he constructed his projects. In a way, his resources being cut had been a blessing in disguise as he had learned was to speed up production and cut down on resource usage, enough so that he was actually producing more now than before his resources had been cut.

" _Response. I was forced to use 14% less material per construct, as well as delay my personal projects."_ He replied.

The Magos' head moved upwards slightly, _"Question. Why did you not request more materials."_ he asked.

" _Response. Requested materials would take an estimated 16.2 hours before they reached my station. Rework of construction was the optimal course of action."_

The Magos shifted slightly, an input from one of his fingers moving from one output to another, _"Transfer of Adept 23774 from Mars to Forge World 7783, Designation: Arus."_

Matthius' still biological eyes widened. Arus was a, quote, 'Forge world' on the southern fringe of the Imperium's borders. In reality, it was little more than a colony with a few more factories than was strictly necessary. It was supposed to be the start of a new Forge world, but the time it would take for it to be finished would be decades, no, _centuries_.

" _Question. Why am I being transferred."_ Matthias asked.

" _Response. Adept 23774 has been disruptive and has shown signs of early Heretek thought-patterns. Solution: Transfer 23774 to minor Forge world to either delay Tech Heresy or destroy the possibility."_ The Magos explained.

Matthias' eyes seemed to double in size, _"Argument. I will delete myself before committing Tech Heresy of any kind."_ He said, and he meant it to.

" _Counter-argument. All Hereteks say that before they convert, precautions must be taken to ensure you do not become one."_ The Magos argued.

Matthias' shoulders slumped. There was no way for him to get out of this. He wasn't the most rebellious Tech adept, far from it, but the way the Magos spoke made it clear that there was no room for argument. When translated to standard High or Low Gothic, binary seemed robotic, dull, and void of any emotion. But to anyone that could speak the language themselves, it was clear that the Magos hated what he was doing.

This particular Magos had somewhat taken in Matthias, teaching him what he had struggled to learn. He was sending Matthias out of the way, sending him as far away from those who would inflict any form of investigation on him. As much as it pained Matthias to say it, the Magos was helping him in the best way possible by sending him away.

" _Proposal. Go to Arus and defeat any form of Tech Heresy within yourself. Please, Matthias."_

Matthias' heart skipped a beat, hearing the Magos call him by his name instead of his serial number. By all rights, he should have lost his position for doing that. He would be berated, demoted, and possibly even rejected from the Mechanicum entirely if anyone found out.

Matthias sighed, _"Proposal accepted."_

[-]

 **Forge-world Arus: 972.M41**

 **Office of Magos 23774 A.K.A. Matthias**

It had been years since he was dropped off on this backwater planet, and all things considered, he had gone up in the world. He was now a Magos, respected among the other Tech-priests on Arus. While his opinions hadn't changed from when he was on Mars, his peers had.

The planet was still a Forge world, and as such, it was still under the watchful eye of the Adeptus Mechanicus. For all that meant, however, the people still practiced more radical forms of technological modification. Many of the changes he had proposed back on Mars had already been put in place on Arus, and a few more had been made that would have made several of his Mars based brethren call the people Hereteks!

He smiled, silently thanking his Magos back on Mars for sending him to Arus. The fact that he was capable of a smile was a feat in and of itself. Many members of the Mecanicus that reached the rank of Magos had replaced any and all flesh possible with machinery. He was one of the few exceptions, believing that being able to communicate with people outside of the Mecanicus rather important.

His face and hair still looked like that of a fully flesh based human, and his hands remained flesh as well, though the rest of him… not so much. Almost every internal organ possible was converted to a mechanical version, and he had four servo arms attached to his back, all of which did the tasks his biological limbs were incapable of doing.

Above his primarily metal body, he wore the standard red and white robes of the Adeptus Mechanicus.

Typing away at his cogitator, he groaned as he read the latest requests from the only other planet in the system. Apparently, the local feudal lords had gotten themselves into a war with each other. A war that the main battlefield of which was the main supply depot of the colony.

Approximately five-hundred tons of refined plas-steel had been lost, along with dozens of basic construction vehicles and tools. By his immediate estimates, it would take almost two years to replace the plas-steel alone! It wasn't as if they couldn't produce it, but the construction of further factories on Arus took precedence over the needs of the colony.

What made it difficult was the fact that the colony would not stop sending messages until they had gotten their resources. Therefore Matthias was left with a choice: He could ignore the constant requests and simply proceed as normal, taking two years to deliver the goods, or he could halt all factorial production and produce the material in about a month.

Truly it was a predicament. Begrudgingly, he decided he would put up with the requests, and continue as planned.

What Matthias did not count on, was for the requests to stop coming after a little over a month. He was confused at first, thinking that maybe they had simply given up, and would make do with what they had. His thoughts were corrected when he received the distress call.

" _Mayday Mayday! Colony C is under attack by Xeno hostiles! They have already attacked and destroyed Colonies A and B, and if they keep going at this rate, we're next!"_ The voice said over the intercom.

Mattias' eyes widened in surprise. The requests were coming from Colony A, and now it appeared that said colony had been destroyed by whatever Xeno's were attacking.

Grimacing, the Magos started broadcasting orders to gather the Skitarii. They would need to assist the colonies for all that they were worth. The travel between Arus and the colony world would be less than a week, and he had stopped receiving requests about two weeks ago. Calculating the odds, he was optimistic that they would arrive in time to assist the remaining defenders.

His forces numbers were limited, only having one-hundred combined Skitarii Rangers and Vanguard, with a few dozen Electro-priests and a few Kastalen robots with a single Dunecrawler to aid them.

While in transit, he prayed that the Omnissiah would guide them, and that they would not be defeated by the enemies of mankind.

[-]

 **Colony world Antigas: 972.M41**

 **Colony C**

Matthias would be lying if he said that the colony looked in anything better than ruins. Its walls looked as if they were being held together with spit and prayer, and what few fortifications were left when they arrived were severely undermanned.

Landing his transports inside the city, he was greeted by a very jumpy looking officer.

"Are you those Cogboys from Arus?" He asked.

Matthias nodded, "I am Magos Matthias, and I brought what forces I could spare. I see though that your forces have taken quite the beating." He observed.

The commander scoffed, "Yeah, of course, we have. You think the Dark Eldar have been going easy on us?" he asked condescendingly.

Matthias' eyes narrowed. Not from the commander's words, no those had been expected. It was the fact that it was Dark Eldar that were the ones attacking them. Dark Eldar raids were not an unusual thing in the Imperium, but out as far as they were, he imagined that there was little of value to them.

"When was their last attack?" Matthias asked.

"About two days ago, they came here, killed a bunch of my men and kidnapped the few that couldn't get away." The commander answered with a growl, "The damn Xeno's have been at this for weeks now, and we still don't know what they've been looking for!"

The last statement caught Matthias' attention, "'Looking for' commander? What do you mean?" he asked.

"I mean they're looking for something. They landed their ships a few kliks that way," he pointed to the south, "And have been digging ever since. They only attack us because we're here I'd reckon."

Matthias looked to the south, idly wondering what the Dark Eldar would be digging for on a backwater colony planet.

[-]

 **Colony world Antigas: 972.M41**

 **Drukhari mining rig**

Khal was a simple Drukhari. He tortured slaves, despised his craftworld cousins, avoided politics where he could, and he went on raids from time to time. Again, very simple. So it was with no small amount of surprise that he was given a mission by Lord Vect himself!

He had been assigned to go to some undefended backwater planet in the Mon'keigh Imperium. An easy mission if he did say so himself, but Khal would never have admitted that to Lord Vect, who had stressed the importance of the mission quite a great deal.

Khal idly whipped one of the slaves, yelling at them for their sloppy work and telling them to work faster. They were working plenty fast, that was true, but Khal simply enjoyed the sound of their screams as his whiplashed their flesh.

Silently giggling to himself, Khal walked away from the slaves and towards the edge of the quarry. Forest surrounded the dig site, making it nigh impossible to see from orbit, but there was still the possibility of someone stumbling upon them by accident. He wasn't worried about them causing any real damage, auto-guns weren't really all that effective, but he would rather deal with them sooner rather than later.

What he was very surprised to see, however, was a large number of tech-priests and machines that were marching through the forest towards the quarry.

Panicking slightly, Khal rushed back towards the other Dark Eldar.

"The Mon'keigh have gathered reinforcements!" He yelled out, causing the many lounging Drukhari to perk up, "It the machine worshippers, they have gathered and are almost upon us, we must prepare quickly!"

The Xeno's scrambled all over, some picking up their weapons and others putting bits of armor back on. Others simply injected themselves with combat drugs, feeling the burning rush of the chemical cocktails flowing through their blood. Khal himself headed towards the cages that held his secret weapons.

Vect had insisted that he bring some form of protection for anything that might face them, and two Grotesques seemed like they would be enough. The creatures moaned in agony, their flesh and bone warped beyond recognition. Khal was unsure whether these creatures had once been Aeldari, Drukhari, or even Mon'keigh, but he had little time to think, as he heard the sounds of battle emanating not far away.

"Alright, let's see what those machine worshipers think of you my pretties," Khal said to himself.

The combat between the Dark Eldar and the Mechanicus was frantic, with Skitarii lasguns dropping several Drukhari and the Tech-priests being cut down one by one. The battle looked fairly even until the Grotesques entered the battlefield.

The lumbering giants moaned in agony and suffering, their steps echoing throughout the battlefield. Slamming their oversized weapons into the many Skitarii, they tipped the balance of power in favor of the Drukhari. The tech-priests fought valiantly, with Matthias himself blasting many Dark Eldar and even managing to bring down one of the Grotesques.

By the time the first Grotesque went down, however, it was already too late. The other Grotesque brought its blade down on the already damaged Dunecrawler, finally causing the machine to collapse.

The members of the Mechanicus were losing, and they knew that without reinforcements, they would not last much longer. They were fortunate when several Valkyries descended from the cloud-covered sky, making a strafing run over the Drukhari lines. Several dropships came and landed among Mechanicus lines, dropping off dozens of guardsmen.

The battle once again shifted, this time in favor of Imperial forces. The Dark Eldar were pushed back to their quarry, and they tried to use the slaves as meat shields, only for said slaves to start turning on them and defending the guardsmen attacking the Xeno's. Before long, the Xeno's were clambering over each other to get to their ships and leave the planet.

With the enemy finally routed, the Guardsmen and Tech-priests cheered in victory. Turning from the fleeing Xeno's, Matthias spotted a man in a black long-coat approaching him.

"Magos, it is a pleasure to meet you!" the older man said, a hand outstretched in greeting.

Mattias stuck out his hand and shook the older man's, "The pleasure is mine, and if I may ask, who is that assisted the Mechanicus in our time of need?" he asked.

The man smiled, "I am Robert Carolinus, Rogue Trader and Imperial traveler." he answered.

The Magos smiled, "Well then Robert, I thank you for your assistance."

The Rogue Trader nodded, "You are more than welcome. Though, I do have a request…"

[-]

"And that is how I became part of the crew of the Emperor's Boot, under the command of Robert Carolinus."

Michael and Jarod shared a glance, "So… You were a Magos on a minor Forge world and gave that up to join a Rogue Trader? With no guarantees of survival?" Michael asked.

Matthias scratched the back of his head, "Well when you say it like that it sounds very illogical…"

"It IS illogical!" Jarod chastised the Tech-priest.

[-]

 **A/N: And chapter three of Warhammer 40k: AotT is now done! Phew! I don't know what it is, but I've been on a writing spree as of late. Not all that sure why.**

 **Robocop: Now that's what I call a DYNAMIC ENTRY. Also YAY! Exposition.**

 **You can thank the folks on spacebattles for making me want to write exposition, a few of them asked questions that are answered in this chapter.**

 **Anyway, REVIEWS!**

 **WordBearer01:** Thanks! Hope you enjoyed it!

 **Kryptman:** Quite so. Here's a fix for that!

 **Guest:** All things considered… that would probably work.

 **The Real Kitten:** Glad you enjoyed the reference, and don't worry, there will be PLENTY of TTS shenanigans to come ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: A little thing I feel I must note: While this story does incorporate much of If the Emperor had a Text To Speech Device universe, it does not exist in that universe. But yes, much of what is canon in TTS is also canon here. You are free to speculate.**

 **Disclaimer: We do not own Warhammer 40k. Tried bombarding the safehouse yesterday, turns out it's built to withstand Exterminatus.**

 **Beta: Robocop 3301**

[-]

 **The Warp: 985.M41**

 **The Emperor's boot**

It turned out that the warp was NOT a calm place. Especially when you were being boarded by Chaos space marines.

"Keep the pressure on! Don't let them gain any ground!" Michael yelled as hundreds of guardsmen poured lasfire down upon the Marines, the modified power packs causing the beams of light to actually burn off the cerimite and cause the outer layers of adamantium to glow orange with heat.

Because of the more powerful weaponry wielded by the Imperials, the traitor marines were actually forced to use cover lest they be killed by mere guardsmen. One of the traitors looked up from his cover and let loose a shell from his bolter, killing a guardsman before he was forced to take cover.

The other marine beside him growled in frustration, "This was supposed to be simple! When did the corpse worshippers get weapons like this, Calivar, when!?" he said to his companion.

"I wish I knew Alius, but we will do what we can," Calivar answered, firing a few more rounds from his bolter, "Now if only Alaric would come to assist us, then we might finally have some new trophies."

The two continued to trade fire with the guardsmen, before Alius roared in frustration, threw his bolter to the side, picked up his chainaxe.

"BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD! SKULLS FOR THE SKULL THRONE!" His warcry echoed through the ships hull.

The lasbolts peppered his armor, the surface glowing a dull orange with the amount of heat coming off of it. This did not slow the berserker, as he continued to charge and finally reach the Guardsmen line. His chainaxe tore into guardsmen, rending the flesh from their bones and covering the floor in red blood and gore.

The lasfire did not stop, however, and the adamantium armor began to melt away. The armor warped and steamed as a lucky lasbolt finally broke through, burning the traitor marines flesh. The traitor roared in agony, lashing out at the nearest guardsmen around him and tearing them apart. The guardsmen still held strong, continuing to melt through the marine's armor before he finally collapsed, his skin charred and his organs turned to boiled mush.

While his companions agony was not something he particularly enjoyed, Calivar took the distraction as an opportunity to retreat and get the sorcerer to actually help them. The inside of his ship creaked and groaned under his weight as he ran through it, praying that Khorne would allow him to live long enough for him to shed some actual blood that wasn't his own.

The bridge of the tainted ship was rather small for an Astartes but would give any normal human more than enough room to work in. Standing in the center of the room, stood a deathwatch space marine, arms outstretched and chanting. Due to him not wearing a helmet, Calivar could see Alaric's eyes were rolled back in his head, and his entire body seemed to shiver.

"Alaric! Snap out of it!" Calivar yelled, stomping over to the Legionnaire, "The guardsmen will be boarding the ship as we speak, Alius has already fallen and if we don't do something we will be next!"

Instantly, Alaric's chanting ceased, and he closed his eyes before looking directly at Calivar, "A plan has been enacted cousin, one that despite my distaste for him, the Lord of Change has had a hand in.

[-]

 **Captain Jarod's personal quarters**

"And finally, I cast fist!" Jarod yelled, slamming a piece of thin paste-board down on the table.

The eldritch being sitting across from him cackled, **"So you have! And by doing so, you have activated my trap card! Mystical Spikes!"**

"Ah, but Mystical Spikes is nullified by Guardian Angels flying ability! And he continues forwards, dealing one thousand points of damage!"

" **OHohOHohOHohOHohOHohOH! Quite the play, my mortal dimensional traveler! It seems that you are quite the player!"** Tzeentch complimented, **"Or am I just taking it easy on you? Am I only limiting my own ability?"**

"You probably are. Last time I saw you playing this game you had three Pot of Greeds. Which is practically cheating." He chastised the abomination.

Once again, Tzeentch laughed that terrible laugh, **"And that is what intrigues me so! You know me, you know I am, you know what I do, you know why I do it! You have made certain the uncertain, and you know the unknown! Why is this? Are you simply a scholar who read one-to-many books? Or is it something else?"**

"I'm pretty sure that if you knew where I got my information from, you'd either laugh or cry. Maybe both." Jarod explained, "Now are we done? 'Cause last I checked there are two traitor marines attacking my ship."

Tzeentch cackled knowingly, **"OhohOHoHOhOHOhOhoHoHoHOHOHOHo! Well, you can drop that down to TWO more of the anathema's ex-children, one of them is already burnt!"**

"I'm not even going to ask what you mean by that."

" **Smart mortal."**

The warp-born entity seemed to fade from existence, becoming transparent and its form wavering. Before it disappeared entirely, however, it did say one last thing, **"Oh and you're a psyker now, have fun!"**

"Wait, what!?" Jarod asked, before Tzeentch's form disappeared entirely and a psychic wave sent Jarod sprawling to the floor.

Standing back up, he felt a splitting headache come on, making him rub his temples. This was only amplified seconds later when he suddenly heard the violent screeches of the psychic beings within the warp as they tried to rend his soul from his body.

Jarod cried out in pain, trying to use his force of will to eject the psychic presence from his mind. It somewhat succeeded, many of the smaller mental probes leaving his mind. Still, the larger, more painful ones persisted. He tried putting up mental defenses, blocking out all thought except for the image of a solid iron wall.

This seemed to work, as the probes finally left his psyche. Slowly, he released the image from his mind and tried to think of what to do next.

He could, for lack of a better term, feel the warp around him. He could almost 'see' the beings within the warp swimming around him like sharks to a piece of fresh and bloody meat. Fortunately for him, they soon lost interest and went towards a much larger psychic than his own.

Taking a deep breath, Jarod stood up again, before moving slowly towards the door to his room. He would be lying if the Eldritch abomination had not shaken him to his core. While in Tzeentch's personality was remarkably similar to his internet persona, it seemed he was relatively unaware of the fact, which made Jarod curious.

Opening his door, he heard the sounds of lasfire coming from somewhere in the ship. Keeping a hand on his throbbing head, he made his way towards the sounds of combat. Opening a blast door he was assaulted with the smell of Ozone and blood, as he saw the remains of a traitor marine and several now dead guardsmen.

Looking around, he saw that the guardsmen had halted their fire, though they still had their guns trained on what looked like a boarding ship. Panning around the room, he found Michael hauling a wounded guardsman onto a stretcher.

"Michael!" He called out, getting his attention.

Michael turned his head towards Jarod and walked over, "Where have you been!? We've been under assault from chaos space marines for more than long enough for you to take notice!"

"For the record, I did take notice. The only reason I only just came down is due to the fact that a particularly indecisive mollusk decided that I would be the perfect candidate for his patronage." He explained.

Michael's eyes bulged, "As in, the big blue space squid?" He asked worriedly. Himself and Jarod had talked extensively about Chaos and the effects it might have on them. They concluded that due to their extensive knowledge of the subject matter they would be able to avoid the most dangerous pitfalls.

Jarod nodded, "Yeah. Challenged me to a children's card game too. I suppose Alfa Busa knew some things that many in the Imperium don't."

Michael sighed, "I'm guessing you aren't anywhere near corrupted?" He asked in a less worried tone.

"Nope. Though, considering blue boy just made me a psyker…" He trailed off.

Michael shook his head rapidly, "Wait, you're a psyker now!?" He whisper-yelled.

Jarod nodded, "The last thing he said to me was 'you're a psyker now' and a splitting headache followed soon after." he explained, "Not to mention all of the Daemons trying to constantly get into my head."

Michael shook his head, letting out a long sigh. Either of them being psykers was NOT something that they had made a plan for. And they had planned extensively. They were prepared to fight Space Marines, as they had just proven, they were prepared to fight Daemons, Tyranids, Orks, Eldar, the Inquisition, the Adeptus Mechanicus, the Tau… they were even prepared to fight the Primarchs if it came down to it!

But getting turned into a psyker wasn't on the list of thing's they'd prepared for.

"So, are you a ticking time bomb, or do you know how to keep yourself stable?" He asked.

"I think I'm stable for the most part. It was worse when it first happened. It felt like a dozen iron bars were being stabbed into my head, but they left to swim around some other psyker. He's more powerful than me, that's for sure." Jarod explained.

Michael hummed, "Well if they're strong enough to take the attention away from you I guess that's good."

A large explosion came from the back of the room, where the traitor ship had docked with their own. Looking back at it, they saw the two Chaos Space marines standing, not shooting at them, not charging at them, just standing there in the doorway. One of them was one of the ones from before, wearing red armor and symbols of Khorn.

The other was a marine in black armor and blue-green highlights. A white cloak trailed behind him, and a power sword sat at his hip. What intrigued the two travelers the most about hi was the distinct lack of chaotic imagery, as well as his whole motif being that of a member of the deathwatch then that of chaos.

"Jarod Carolinus Robertson." the black armored marine asked- no, stated.

Everyone in the room was tensed, but no one dared move a muscle for fear of sparking conflict again. In response to - mostly - his name, Jarod stepped forward and addressed the marine… with dozens of men and guns between them.

"That's me… and who are you?" he asked.

"I an Alaric of the Astral Winds chapter. The Khornate beside me is Calivar, of the Space Wolves. The one you have miraculously slain was Alius, of the same chapter as his gene-brother." the Astartes introduced himself and his comrades.

Jarod nodded, not taking his eyes off of the two, "And why are you attacking our ship? I would assume you have far better things to do." He said in a stoic voice, while inwardly panicking.

With his new psyker powers, even if he may not be able to use them at all, he could easily see that this Alaric character was the one that the daemons were trying to attack. By extension, this also meant that the space marine was a far more powerful psyker than he was, meaning he could likely pop his head like a balloon if he wanted to.

Which begged the question, why hadn't he done so already?

[-]

Alaric was many things. A psyker. A traitor. A servant to the Emperor. But for all is training and preparation, nothing would have prepared him for the psychic backlash that occurred when Tzeentch removed whatever dampeners had been put on the mind of one of the two. It was as if a stun grenade had gone off right in front of his face, without his helmet on and his eyes wide open.

It was worse when the man essentially broadcasted his psyche to the entire immaterium, granting Alaric a great deal of knowledge about who he was. Granted Alaric was not able to learn much before Jarod walled off his mind as if turning it from an open book to a sealed vault capable of resisting exterminatus.

What made the encounter even more irritating was the absurd amount of daemons his psyche had attracted. Once his mind was sealed off, they immediately went to find the next strongest power source, which just so happened to be Alaric himself.

While he was completely capable of defending his mind from the creatures, it was a difficult task at first. He had not been initially prepared for the onslaught and was surprised when the daemons came but he was capable of recovering nonetheless.

The knowledge he was able to gather was Jarod's name, a snippet of his conversation with Tzeentch, and the name of his friend and likely the other suppressed psyker. Not much, but enough.

When he'd stepped onto the ship, he'd been slightly surprised by the number of guardsmen still alive. He'd known that they had been better equipped than most Guardsmen, but there wasn't nearly as much damage as he had expected there to be. When he introduced himself, he'd almost expected everyone to start shooting at him. He hadn't expected Jarod himself to address him.

"I am here because yourself and your allies are beacons within the warp. You are destined to change this universe," Jarod seemed to wince slightly and the latter part of that statement, "And as I have foreseen, you will be able to change the galaxy for the better. Chaos lurks in the shadows, and my companion should be a testament to that."

Calivar huffed, muttering something about the glory of Chaos and the follies of the Corpse Emperor. Alaric ignores him and continues speaking.

"I merely ask that you let myself and Calivar assist you on your… quest, I suppose would be the word." He finished.

Jarod seemed to be in deep thought before he leaned over to the man next to him - whom Alaric assumed was Michael - and whispered a short conversation. When he finished, he turned to the two marines.

"You are both aware that anyone else in the Imperium would have you executed, right?" Jarod noted.

Alric nodded. He was very aware that he was treading on thin ice as it was. He also knew that he had a better chance of negotiating with a Rogue Trader than an inquisitorial vessel. Which was exactly why he approached them when he did.

"I am fully aware of that fact. I am also aware that you are the heir to the Rogue Trader that owns this ship. I would like to suggest a joint venture, I help you, and you keep me away from those in the Imperium who would wish for my head." Alaric offered.

Jarod considered the offer. That alone made him more worthy of Alaric's help, as most Rogue Traders would have simply agreed without question. What worried Alaric was when Jarod's eyes shifted from him to the ex-space wolf.

"And what about you? Several of my men are dead or injured thanks to you and the other one." He gestured to the burnt corpse of Alius, "And if your armors symbols are any indication, its a wonder you haven't gone into a berserker rage yet."

Alaric was… he wouldn't say surprised, but what Jarod had just said was fairly unexpected. He was clearly aware of the ruinous powers, as it was Tzeentch that had unlocked his psyker potential, but he seemed to know quite a bit about the other gods of chaos.

In response to Jarod's question, Calivar simply huffed, "Many of my brethren may be mindless brutes, but I am not one of them. If you were to classify my alignment, I would almost say I am more akin to Chaos Undivided rather than throwing my weight behind Khorn. Though I must admit I am… unusually calm at the moment." He explained.

Alaric took a mental note of Calivar's statement. 'Unusually calm' was certainly an apt phrase for him, as he had never once flown into to a rage like his brother had. It almost made Alaric wonder if Calivar still had some doubts about chaos, which could prove to be very useful information.

Jarod seemed to take the information in stride, nodding slowly along with every explanation they gave.

"Well, as you are not currently trying to kill us, and only Calivar seems at all chaos-y, I suppose I will grant your request. Under guard and your weapons out of reach." He stated, laying out his conditions rather plainly.

[-]

 **012.M39: Unknown Imperial world**

The 24th founding. There weren't many who were overly enthusiastic about it, especially not with what they planned to do. Many claimed that every single new chapter would turn traitor. Many more claimed that they would undoubtedly be unstable and that they were all doomed already.

There were a few, however, who had faith that even if their progenitors did not stay loyal, they would.

And so, four new chapters were created.

The Bronze Stars chapter. Their gene-seed was that of the War Hounds Legion, later renamed the World Eaters by their Primarch Angron. Mutations were minimal, with the only real defect being their above-average aggressiveness.

The False Children chapter. Their gene-seed being that of the Emperors Children Legion. The only defects were occasionally white hair and distinctly jet-black eyes, which were far more sensitive to light than they should be.

The Stone Raiders chapter. Their gene-seed being derived from the Dusk Raiders Legion, later being renamed the Death Guard by their Primarch Mortarian. No noticeable defects were found, and it appeared as though at least one of the new chapters was a complete success!

And finally, The Astral Winds chapter. These Astartes had their gene-seed derived from the Thousand Sons Legion. It was the one chapter that no one expected to survive. It surprised everyone when it turned out that the chapter was not only stable, but the only mutation they had was a slight boost to their psychic potential and their psychic stability.

These four chapters were supposed to be the first line of defense against the Orks, who had been getting more and more viscous. No one knew if these chapters would become corrupted or if they would stay loyal, and because of that fact, there was very little trust between them and the rest of the Imperium.

Regardless, all of the chapters remained loyal. The False Children even came into contact with their fallen brethren and found themselves disgusted with what they had become. After the planet had been put under Exterminatus, no one questioned their loyalty again.

The Stone raiders were the only one of the chapters that actually came close to turning traitor. In the year 251.M40, there was a chapter civil war where a third of the chapter wanting to reunite with the Death Guard. This resulted in a three-decade-long war, with the Death Guard coming to assist their brethren. Fortunately, the Astral Winds chapter came to their rescue and drove the traitors off of their homeworld.

In the end, no small amount of trust was built with the False Children and Astral Winds. Their heritage was kept a secret from the rest of the Imperium, and even many among the chapters own members believe that the origins of their gene-seed had been lost to time.

When the time came, their mettle would be tested, and their loyalty would be strained. Fortunately for the Astral Claws specifically, there were more than a few Tournament Illegal cards stacked in their deck.

[-]

 **A/N: And thats chapter four done! To those of you reading this on the fanfiction site, I highly recommend that you go to the Spacebattles page. I won't be putting anything partiularly important there that won't be put here, but it might interest you nonetheless.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Sonic:** Thanks!

 **Frankieu:** Oh don't worry, Kitten will make more appearances!

 **Obsidian Prime:** Not a bad comparison actually.

 **WordBearer01:** Certainly. There will be even more of it to come!


	5. Chapter 5

**985.M41: The Emperor's boot**

 **Psychic training area**

 _ ***ZZAP!***_

A bolt of lightning struck forwards, just missing the target by a few centimeters. On the other end, Jarod groaned as the backlash electrocuted his hand.

Alaric sighed, "You must envision what you want to happen, every detail, and only then do you draw upon the warp." he instructed.

Jarod nodded, shaking his head as he tried again. Instead of the lightning this time, he imagined a fireball, a glowing, white-hot fireball. Then he started to draw energy from the warp, the fireball slowly shaping in his hand. When it reached full size, he chucked it forward, coming short of the target by half a meter, but the ensuing explosion destroyed it nonetheless.

Jarod thrust his arms up in victory, "Yes! Classic D&D fireball!"

Alaric sat there, almost stunned at what he witnessed. Jarod had been trying to summon lightning for the better part of an hour, but when he tried using fire, he had far more success. It was mildly surprising that he was unable to use one of the more basic psychic abilities. In the background, Calivar laughed alongside several cheering guardsmen of the braver variety.

Alaric looked into the warp once again and pondered the strength of his new liege. His psychic ability was strong enough that he should have no problem summoning even the more complex abilities. What confused him most, however, was just how bright Jarod's soul was within the warp.

Most humans were simply just blips in the warp, a candle in a dark room. Most psykers were more akin to a bright lantern. Jarod, by contrast, was like a constant orb of painfully bright light, almost akin to the Astronomican. He shook his head, returning his mind to the materium.

Michael sat on the sidelines, seemingly deep in thought. He had been the only one of the humans on the ship besides the Rogue Trader and Jarod to be unafraid of the traitor marine and himself. The Trader had explained his motives in that he fully expected Jarod to take full responsibility, and that he had dealt with Chaos worshipers before.

Michael, on the other hand, seemed almost uninterested in the marines. Not that he didn't turn and look when either of them came down the hall, but he didn't stare as long as the others did.

It was curious, but it wasn't something that Alaric felt worth questioning. What surprised him was when Michael approached him after one of Jarod's training sessions with him.

"Captain Michael, what do you need?" Alaric asked.

"I have a question: You said you are part of the Astral Winds space marine chapter, and I have to ask… are they, loyalists or traitors?" He asked in a careful tone.

Alaric nodded, "It is little wonder you would ask. For your information they are loyalists. I like to think of myself of a loyalist as well, and I was… surprised how easily you accepted Calivar after he attacked your men." He explained.

"Well, as far as Calivar goes he's… way too calm to be an actual Chaos Marine. I don't know where you found him and his buddy, but I'd guess he more or so followed him around rather than falling to Chaos completely. All things considered, he might actually be able to rejoin the Imperium." He explained, "And as far as you go, your armor fits the deathwatch motif, which makes me think you never actually turned traitor."

Alaric laughed, his voice sounding almost like a truck engine through his helmet grill, "You seem to be more aware than your companions. I suppose I should expect that from one of Trader Jarod's closer companions." He admitted.

Michael huffed, "Yeah well, I would probably be killed by the Inquisition if they were aware of just how much I knew." He said rolling his eyes.

Alaric's head swiveled towards Michael's direction. He had just openly claimed that the _Inquisition_ would probably be gunning for his head if they knew he existed. He was either very smart or very stupid.

"What do you mean by that?" Alaric asked warily.

"You mean besides my extensive knowledge of Chaos, Hrud, Orks, Squats,-" He continued to name off dozens of things that were supposed to be secret information. Several things that Alaric didn't even know existed. A few things he knew for a fact would have gotten him killed by anyone of significant power in the Imperium, and enough heresy in word form to make a greater daemon blush.

Alaric was sufficiently confused, confuzzled, and immediately worried. He had no idea just how outclassed the Imperium was. He knew it was a sinking ship, which was why he was even working with the people around him at all, but with what Michael described it was almost enough to make Alaric pray to the Emperor. Actually, it was enough.

"-And I'm not even going to go into Human-Eldar interbreeding. That's a debated enough subject as it is." he finished, confusing the space marine even further.

"I…" Alaric found himself speechless, much to his own surprise. He was more curious how Michael came upon all of the information and wondered how much of it came from his sealed psyker abilities, "How do you know so much?"

Michael sighed, "That my friend, is something that unless I have the all clear from the Emperor himself, I cannot tell you." He explained, "Then again you might find out sooner but I don't know. Depends if we can get the text-to-speech device anywhere near Terra."

Once again, Alaric was very lost.

[-]

"I have an idea!" Jarod exclaimed as he walked into Roberts office. The man raised an eyebrow, curious as to what his new heir's idea was.

"And what would your idea be? You've already managed to get two space marines onto the ship - which is no small feat mind you - and you have also discovered your own latent psyker abilities. What more do you wish to do?" He asked with a grin.

Jarod smiled, "My partner, you know him, Michael has been criticizing our lack of shock troops among the regiments. He and I have therefore produced plans for a team of shock troopers, and would like you to look them over." He explained.

Robert's grin only widened. This was exactly the reason he had selected Jarod to be his heir.

The two of them went over the schematics, working out the kinks and planning out the first mission. That was when they got the distress signal.

[-]

 **985.M41: planet Carkas**

 **Eldar firebase**

Elirom blasted another Ork with a bolt of psychic lightning, tiny giblets falling to the ground. All around him, Aspect warriors slashed, sliced, shot, and blew up the horde of oncoming Orks. He had received a vision, one that told him that this specific planet was incredibly important. Just how important it was he wasn't sure.

Regardless, he had managed to get enough crew and warriors to accomplish his mission.

"Get that distress beacon up and running!" he heard the Howling Banshee Exarch order. Turning to look he saw her decapitating another Ork and kicking its head into the oncoming mass.

He chuckled slightly, before returning to his own combat.

The Orks continued to come, dying in droves to the superior Aeldari, but the Orks had their enemies outnumbered. For every Ork that fell, another dozen took its place. Days they kept this up, cycling out the worn and tired warriors for rested and refreshed ones.

It seemed to be working. Until the Orks managed to break their ranks one night and the reserves had to come out and assist. Now everyone was tired and barely alive. Their main form of transportation had been destroyed a good long while ago, and now they were waiting for some miracle.

The longer the battle went on, the more that Elirom began to recognize parts of it. An Ork being killed by a shuriken pistol, a Trukk being blown up by a grav-tank, and the two Ork ships flying above them. His eyes widened when he realized what was happening.

"Aeldari! Do not lose hope!" He said as he blew an Orks head off, "Reinforcements will arrive soon!"

The Eldar around him cheered, and he prayed to Isha that not too many of them would be killed.

Looking upwards, he spotted a few human-made dropships above the Ork ships. He was confused at first, wondering why they were so high. Until he saw the little dots that dropped out of the backs of the transports.

It was obvious to anyone that understood shock and awe tactics. Those dots were shock troops, and they were dropping feet first into hell.

[-]

Michael felt the wind against his face and the whistle of gunfire around him. He was a bit sad when they had gotten the distress call before they could incorporate drop pods, but their secondary idea felt like a good option as well.

Parachutes. And by extension, Paratroopers.

The backpack he wore carried three different chutes that could be disconnected after they were deployed, allowing the pack multiple uses. He personally had no idea where Jarod had found the parts to make the contraptions, but he wasn't one to complain.

Himself and thirty other guardsmen had been equipped with the parachutes and were now dropping into hostile territory. Jarod and Captain Robert were well aware that the ones we were rescuing were Eldar, but Jarod in particular though having them on our side in the future would be helpful.

The plan was simple.

Step one: Michael and his team would disable the Ork ships before heading down to the ground to support the Eldar.

Step two: Jarod and the space marines would head down to wherever the warboss was and kill him.

Step three: Negotiate peacefully with the Eldar once the battle was over.

Michael himself hoped that the Eldar didn't take their assistance as a sign of hostility.

" _Get ready boys, First Ork barge coming up in 700 meters. Prepare to deploy chutes at 100 meters."_ Michael ordered over his vox bead.

All of his men gave a sign of acknowledgment. Looking towards the first Ork barge, he spotted a wide-open docking bay. A few Fighta's flew out of it, diving down to assault the Eldar down below. He decided that the docking bay would be the boarding point and relayed the information. As soon as they reached 100 meters above the docking bay, everyone deployed the first chute.

The modern design of the chutes allowed for a great deal of directional control and meant that all of the troops managed to land inside the bay. Lasfire erupted from the guardsmen even before they landed. Orks roared in challenge, charging forward against the landing men.

Michael decoupled his parachute, which flew forward and managed to wrap itself around an Ork, blinding it. Michael took advantage of this and shot a short burst of lasbolts into the Orks chest, killing it. Around him, the guardsmen did the same, firing into the oncoming Orks and working to push forward.

One guardsman, unfortunately, found himself to close to an Ork, which grabbed him and tore him in half. The rest of the Guardsmen responded by laying fire into the larger than average Ork, killing it quickly.

When the Orks stopped coming, Michael called for a head count, "How many did we lose?" He asked.

A sergeant walked up to him, "Corporals Cliff, Samson, and Rike were killed as soon as they landed. An Ork heavy gun managed to hit them before we could take it out. Lieutenant Dannir got too close to one of the bigger ones." he explained.

Michael nodded solemnly, "Collect their tags and let's keep moving, we need to find the engine and blow it to hell." he ordered.

Michael was used to death at this point, after the four months, he had been in the Imperial guard since he had gotten to the forty-first millennium. It was kind of hard not to get used to casualties, and as much as he hated losing men, he knew it was often unavoidable. He just had to keep reminding himself that it wasn't his fault.

The kept moving through the ship's corridors, blasting through the Orks that got in their way. Eventually, they reached a room towards the back of the ship that held the things engine.

"Alright, arm the det-packs and let's get moving! We still have one more to take out." He ordered.

The men followed his instructions, setting up the explosives around the engine and linking them to a single detonator, which they gave to Michael. When he examined them, he noted with a smile that there were enough explosives there to blow a space marine to pieces.

"Alright let's go! One more ship to go!" He ordered as him and the rest of the group began moving back to the docking bay. Once everyone reached it, they began jumping out, with Michael being the last one out.

Once he cleared the barge, he pressed the trigger on the detonator and turned to watch the back half of the ship go up in flames. Smiling to himself, he looked for a decent spot to land on the second ship. He frowned when there were no convenient open docking bays, but decided they would improvise.

" _Alright, we don't have any openings like the last one. Instead, land on the roof,"_ he ordered.

" _Sir! How are we supposed to get into it?"_ One of the guardsmen asked.

" _We'll handle that once were on the ship, don't worry."_

The group soon landed on the roof of the second Ork barge, ready to do whatever Michael ordered them to. Michael ordered a few det-packs to be put on the hull towards the back of the ship in roughly the same area where the engine was on the last ship.

When the explosives went off, the hole that was left opened up into what actually looked like the ship's bridge. The only reason that anyone was able to figure this was the odd-looking Ork sitting in a captains chair, yelling at several gretchins hitting random buttons on a bunch of machines.

Michael and his squad lined up above the bridge and opened fire, raining lasbolts into the dozens of Orks. One of the orks managed to let off a round from its shoota, which clipped Michael's shoulder pad, knocking him back a step and tearing the piece of armor off.

In response, he targeted the Ork that shot him and blew it's head off.

In less than a minute, they had emptied the bridge of all greenskins. "Alright, I'm gonna climb down, Harper, Jacques, with me. The rest of you make sure the Ork's don't find their way up here." Michael ordered before he and his men lowered themselves into the Ork ship.

Michael scanned the ship's controls, all of it being nonsensical and seemingly random. There were a few buttons or levers that it was obvious what they did, but those were far and few between. The floor was covered in burnt green-skin corpses, along with enough blood to paint the floor of the bridge.

Moving to the captain's chair, that being the big chair in the center of the room with the biggest Ork sitting in it, he looked at the control panel sticking out of the armrest. There was a big red button, which likely did one of two things, neither of which would be good for the Orks.

Before he could test his theory, the door to the bridge opened, and an Ork wearing long yellow robes stood in the doorway. No one moved for a split-second before the Ork cried out a 'WAAAAAGH!' and charged into the room, the lasfire from Michael and his men following a split-second later.

The Ork collapsed to the ground, with small round objects falling out of its robes as it did so. Michael barely managed to call out a warning, before the explosives went off and knocked the three humans to the ground. Shrapnel lodged itself inside the walls and floor, as well as the armor of the three men.

Fortunately, their armor protected them. For the most part. Michael cried out in pain as a piece of shrapnel lodged itself inside his unarmored shoulder, small enough that it wasn't fatal, but still, big enough to cause significant damage.

Michael fell to the ground, clutching his bleeding wound with the shrapnel still lodged inside. As soon as they were able to recover from the blast, the two unharmed guardsmen rushed to their commander's side.

"FRAK THAT HURTS!" Michael cursed, having picked up on the local slang long ago.

One of the guardsmen, Jacques, tried to take the visible piece of shrapnel out of Michael's shoulder before he held up a hend, stopping him, "Leave it in! I'll only bleed out if you take the stupid thing out of me!" he ordered. Jacques nodded hesitantly before he reached into his pack and pulled out a field medkit, wrapping Michael's shoulder in gauze and trying to stop the bleeding.

The bleeding slowed quickly, enough so that Michael felt the need to move forward. Tears in his eyes, he ordered his men to get out of the bridge. They followed his orders, climbing out the hole in the roof. Michael grunted in pain as he shouldered his lasgun, moving towards the captain's chair again. This time, he spared no thought of hitting the red button and rushing to leave the ship.

The ship shook violently, its engines running full blast towards a mountain. When Michael reached the edge of the hole, he and his men ran to the edge of the ship, jumping off of it and activating their final chutes to land on the ground to assist the Eldar. Though no one actually witnessed it, the Ork ship kept moving forward, before slamming into the mountain at full throttle, collapsing its structure and killing thousands of the Orks inside.

When Michael observed the slaughter below him, he tried to rationalize his thoughts, despite the pain in his shoulder, only worsened by the parachute. The Eldar were struggling against the Orks, many of them falling to the greenskins Choppa's and shoota's.

" _Alright everyone, our orders are to kill the Orks, NOT to kill the Eldar. I might suggest we focus on the mutual enemy, and hash out the backstabbing later."_ Michael ordered over the vox. He got several complaints and grumbles, mostly about not trusting the pointy-eared pricks, but he ignored them for the most part.

The space elves would be able to help revive Guilliman, not to mention being the only quasi-allies the Imperium had, for all that was worth.

Readying his weapon while still in the air, he and his team did an improvised strafing run on the Orks, raining down lasfire as they flew by. Some gunfire managed to damage one of the guardsmen's parachutes, causing him to fall to his death amongst the Orks. Another guardsman misjudged his altitude, and an Ork lept into the air and grabbed onto him, dragging him down as he was torn apart by the Orks.

Michael cursed under his breath, adjusting his parachutes angle so that he would land amongst the Eldar lines, the rest of his team following his lead. He managed to land somewhat gracefully, disconnecting his chute and rushing to assist the Eldar that stood on the front lines.

He and his men soon found themselves standing side-by-side with the Eldar, killing the greenskins in droves. While Michael was sure the Xenos would never admit it, they probably would have been completely wiped out had it not been for him and his team. Slowly, they managed to push the Orks back, killing some of the bigger ones and breaking their morale.

Soon, the Orks were in full-blown retreat, many guardsmen and Aspect Warriors continuing to kill as many as they could. Michael smiled at the taste of victory before he frowned at the feeling of a blade against his throat.

[-]

Calivar was not what someone would consider sane. However, he actually seemed a good bit better than Jarod when it came to what they were doing now.

Calivar was a worshipper of Khorne… or was at least, his loyalties nowaday's seemed skewed at best if the iconography of both the Emperor _and_ Khorn present on his armor were anything to go by. He was still an Astartes however, he should have been the one to charge headfirst into a fight with an Ork warboss, not the newly discovered psyker who had a primitive understanding of his powers at best!

Alaric groaned as he raced after the Rogue Trader heir, Calivar following close behind.

Alaric cut down greenskin after greenskin, his power sword humming with electrical energy. Calivar was much the same, his bolter barking as he cut down the numerous Orks charging towards them.

Jarod meanwhile focused on using his powers to blast away his enemies with dozens of fireballs. The orbs of fire flew through the air, exploding on impact and turning their targets into bits of charred meat. Jarod laughed as he continued to move forwards. He felt invincible, none of the Orks got close to him, and those that tried were blown apart.

The feeling was a dangerous one though, and one that Jarod was all too aware of. He cautioned himself, never taking any unnecessary risks, and using liberal amounts of psychically conjured fire. Ahead of him, he saw the Warboss ordering around the Nobz, sending them towards him and the space marines.

It was a futile effort, as Jarod an the Warboss soon found themselves face to face. The dreadnaught sized Ork roared in challenge, and Jarod flung a fireball into its gaping mouth. The Warboss coughed as the explosive went off in his mouth. He grabbed the nearest object, which happened to be a particularly large squig, and threw it towards Jarod.

Jarod ducked out of the way, and the squig found itself slamming into Calivar, sending the two flying backward. Alaric took the opportunity to charge forwards, driving his sword into the Orks side. Unfortunately for Alaric, the Ork wasn't much more than annoyed at the big metal Humie that tried to shank 'im.

Jarod meanwhile was charging up a rather large fireball, the biggest one he'd ever made. The ones from before had been about the size of a basket ball. This one was about the size of a small car, as Jarod hefted it above his head.

As Alaric was knocked away by the Warboss, he looked up from the rubble he had landed in to see Jarod chuck the massive warp-generated piece of destruction forwards. It truly was a sight that any manly man would shed a tear at.

The orb of fire impacted the Ork's center of mass, knocking it back before the orb exploded in a flash of orange fire, blowing the front half of the Ork out of existence and sending the rest to become fertilizer for whoever wanted to grow a garden nearby. Any nearby Orks were treated with the same hospitality, being turned into mulch as well.

It was a miracle that Jarod was just out of the blasts lethal area, only having the air knocked out of his lungs as he fell flat on his back. Alaric might not have had the distance advantage that Jarod did, but the piece of rock and/or Ork bits that stood between him and the Warboss was enough to save him from the explosion.

When the mist settled, Alaric saw the remaining Orks fleeing from the blast area, many of them shouting about, "The weird Humie' wit da big bomb tingy!"

Jarod had gotten up from his position on the ground, and seemed content to chuck fireballs at the retreating Orks before he appeared to get bored and decided to walk towards the fallen marine.

"So… that was a thing. And where's Calivar?"

Alaric sighed.

[-]

 **A/N: Merry Christmas one and all! And a chapter for you today! In the spirit of Christmas, I actually managed to get this chapter done, and boy am I glad for it! Anyway, I'd love to hear your thoughts on the chapter, as well as any questions you might have. If something doesn't make sense, please let me know and I will do my best to correct it!**

 **Anywho, reviews!**

 **WordBearer01:** Glad you like them! All of them will be playing a major roll in the story, so you can look forward to more of them!

 **The Real Kitten:** __Glad you enjoyed that! I don't actually play thethere's card game in question, but I feel I did my best to portray the insanity of what is actually is. As far as making them more active characters, here's some bits that you should enjoy! And theres plenty more to come!


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: And my Warhammer book collection grows! Got the first three books of the Horus Heresy, Imperator: Wrath of the Omnissiah, and Gotrek and Felix Omnibus: Vol. 1. Looking to acquire Gaunt's ghosts next. Anyway, on to the chapter!**

 **Bit of a shorter chapter, but that's mostly due to the absence of combat and the heavier scene towards the end. As most people are unaware, I am a very emotional person.**

[-]

 **985.M41: Planet Carkas**

 **Eldar Firebase**

I sighed as the blade pressed against my throat, enough so that I could feel it, but not hard enough to cut into the skin. I let go of my lasgun and slowly put both hands in the air before I spoke. The clatter of my weaponed was echoed by my men all seeing and copying my actions. Good. I didn't need anyone else dead on my watch.

"I know you're not exactly the trusting type, but I would appreciate it if you didn't try to kill us two seconds after we saved you?" I asked rhetorically to the Eldar behind me.

"You will remain silent Mon'keigh. You may have assisted us, but you are in no position to bargain." She ordered, no hint of emotion in her voice. Not even arrogance, which actually surprised me.

I rolled my eyes as I kept my mouth shut. There seemed to be some kind of conversation going on behind in moonspeak, most likely an argument given the tone and volume. If I were to guess, my team and I were the subjects of debate.

"Can you at least turn me around so that I can see what your superiors are arguing about?" I asked, the irritation in my voice only increased by the pain in my shoulder, only dulled by 40k's morphine equivilant.

The Eldar growled, pressing her blade against my throat hard enough that in cut into my skin, a trickle of blood starting to flow down my neck. Ah, there's the arrogance they're known for. I decided to refrain from asking any more questions for the time being. Fortunately for me, the argument seemed to calm down a bit and footsteps started to move towards me.

An Eldar moved towards me and said something to the Eldar holding the sword against my throat. Whatever it was seemed to agitate her, as she yelled back in moonspeak, having another short argument before the sword finally came off my neck and I was set free.

My hand instantly went to rub my neck and wipe the blood off, before I turned around to look at who had come to my rescue. The Eldar was definitely a farseer if his choice of clothing was anything to go by. Not to mention the staff he held which gave off a blue glow.

Which is why it surprised me when he spoke to me directly "Michael Eden, It is good to finally meet you." He said in a _remarkably_ polite tone.

I raised glared at him, before glancing around at my remaining men. Of the thirty I had dropped with, only twelve were left, all of which were in states of severe apprehension. I suppose no one was all that happy with our current situation. At least all of them simply had their hands behind their heads with several Eldar having guns trained on them instead of having a sword at their necks.

Turning back to the Farseer, I spoke in the calmest voice I could: "Why!? Just. Why!? We just saved your collective behinds! Now you're holding me and my men at gunpoint!?" I yelled.

The farseer's eyes widened in what I could only assume was a surprise at me yelling at him. That assumption turned to confusion as he looked around at the Humans and Eldar around him before yelling at the Eldar in more moonspeak, all of whom soon lowered their weapons, though still kept their bodies obviously tense.

I blinked in surprise, taking in the situation. The Eldar Farseer had just ordered his men to stand down. He had done so frantically after realizing that my men were being held captive… was that emotion behind his eyes _fear_ of all things!?

"So… I guess you've seen some kind of future where I kick your collective shiny heads in if you kill my men?" I ask him, slightly confused myself, "Also, how do you know my name?" I asked as I registered his first statement.

He sighed in exasperation before turning back to me, "You would be surprised how… accurate, your statement was. As for how I know who you are, I have had more than one vision where you are present. Even the conversation we are having now." he explained.

I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose in exasperation, "Alright, what kind of prophecy am I involved in?" I asked.

The Farseer smiled, "You, Michael, are destined to-" a loud, girlish scream cut him off as someone flew over the mound of Ork corpses and landed between us. This person was Jarod.

Jarod groaned as he lifted himself off the ground, "Ohhhh… my freaking head… and that's why you don't fly with psyker powers." most of the Eldar seemed stunned at Jarod's arrival, and even the Farseer seemed surprised.

He quickly recovers, however, and addresses Jarod in a similar way, "Ah, Jarod Carolinus Rober-"

"Just quit with the nonsense and tell me why we're not trying to kill each other…" Jarod said cynically.

The Farseer seemed stunned, not expecting our flippant attitudes or gestures. He sighed in exasperation, clearly not being prepared for our nonsense.

"Clearly my visions did not reveal your more… eccentric tendencies. In any case, I believe I should introduce myself. I am Elirom, Farseer of the craftworld Aurorum-III. The two of you are to take part in one of the most extensive events in the history of the galaxy." He explained, still trying to retain the upright and pious attitude.

"Ok, first off, we figured as much. Second, you didn't answer our questions." I told him matter-of-factly.

Elirom's eye twitched, "I… suppose you are correct. We are not trying to kill you because if we did so, it would only end with the slaughter of every Aeldari here. I would rather not have my soul sent to she-who-thirsts thank you very much." He explained in an agitated tone.

Both me and Jarod raised an eyebrow, not necessarily confused at the notion, more surprised at how candid the Eldar was.

"Alright, so we've established that you crossing us is a bad idea and that we're part of some grand plan of the Eldar pantheon," Jarod summarized, looking to Elirom who nodded, "So what exactly _is_ that grand plan, and how do we fit in it?"

"The tides of chaos are moving, and you will be at the eye of the storm. You will decide the fate of the galaxy, whether that be in favor of the Aeldari, the Imperium, or even Chaos itself will be solely your decision." He explained.

Jarod sighed. It was a very depressed sigh. "So… You're saying that the fate of the galaxy rests in our hands…"

Elirom nodded hesitantly.

The two of us, in tandem, said: "Crap."

[-]

Calivar was a complicated space marine, that much could be said with little doubt, but when Jarod and Michael explained that a large number of Eldar would be going with them back to the ship? He felt that his existence was a good bit less complicated than those two. Though considering how closely he was involved with them, he felt that his life may yet get even more complicated.

"And you are sure they will not try to kill us in our sleep?" Calivar asked inquisitively.

"Yes." Jarod said in a lamenting tone, "They won't even attempt it either. According to their Farseer, Michael and I are part of the End Times…"

This caused Calivar's brow to raise, "The End Times?" He asked.

"The Last War, the Wolf Time, The Last Battle, The Hunting. There's not much more to it, it's just the final battle to decide the fate of the galaxy." He explained.

Calivar frowned as he looked towards the Eldar walking about the cargo bay. The Xenos had elected to stay there, for the time being, allowing them to keep their distance from the rest of the crew. Calivar would have been fine with that, were it not for the amount of time that he spent in the cargo bay himself.

"And there was nowhere else they could have stayed? In the medical ward perhaps?" He suggested.

Jarod merely rolled his eyes, "No, there really isn't. We offered to give them their own quarters, but they insisted on having a place like this to themselves. Just keep your chaos nonsense out of their way and you should be fine." he said with a shrug.

Calivar shifted uncomfortably. Jarods words _should_ have sent him flying into a rage. How dare he disrespect his god? And yet he could not find it in himself to feel any negative emotion towards him, much less a berserker rage.

Then there was the matter of the Emperor.

When Calivar followed Alius away from his chapter and towards Chaos, he had been certain it was the best option. He had been convinced the power of chaos would allow him to fix humanity. And yet, Alius was dead now, and the worshippers of the Emperor stood against the horrors of the warp. He had even picked up praying for the Emperor's guidance himself, though still remaining loyal to Khorne first and the Imperium second.

He wasn't even sure if Jarod or Michael even worshipped the Emperor themselves, as they never appeared at the sermons led by the more religious-minded - of course, neither did he, but there were obvious reasons for that - and they never uttered prayers to him. Not to mention the fact that they were willingly consorting with Xenos.

Letting out a sigh, Calivar turned to head back to his personal quarters. He had much to think about after all.

In the hall there, however, he saw Alaric standing in the hall looking at the map of the ship. He did not have his helmet on, so Calivar could see that he really wasn't looking at the map. He seemed deep in thought, his eyes glazed over as if the world around him simply didn't exist.

"Alaric. Are you alright?" He asked.

Alaric jumped slightly - well, the space marine equivalent anyway - at being startled out of his trance. He turned to Alaric, a frown clear on his face.

"No. No, I am not. When I left my deathwatch squadron and turned my back on the Imperium at large, I prepared myself to deal with anything. Be they Xenos, Heretics, Daemons, or whatever else the universe might throw at me," He shook his head and sighed, "But this? This may be too much even for me."

Calivar nodded in understanding, "I assume you are aware of the Eldar's prophecy involving the two?" Alaric nodded, "Then you should be aware that there is little we ourselves can do. In my experience, the Eldar are rarely wrong in their predictions, and the only times that they are wrong is when their prophecies have been denied by a determined force."

Alaric sighed, but nodded in acknowledgment, "It is simply not what I had envisioned for myself. I had thought that I might fall to the whims of chaos-" Calivar snorted amusedly, "-or that I might find myself fighting the Imperium to protect its own people. Being part of an Eldar prophecy was not on my list of things to prepare for."

[-]

Michael sat on his bed staring up at the ceiling, a frown coating his face. He closed his eyes to try and get some sleep, only to growl and get up to pace for a few minutes. Jarod did not appreciate his friend's unease.

"Will you calm down and get some sleep?" Jarod called out from his bunk, looking toward Michaels back.

When he turned around, Jarod was surprised at the exhaustion Michael had in his eyes. It wasn't the physical kind of exhaustion, the fact only proved further when Jarod reached out with his psyche to brush up against his friend's mind. Michael's mind was a mess of emotions, none of them positive.

"Michael? Are you ok?" Jarod asked worriedly. He could tell Michael wasn't, with or without his abilities as a psyker.

Michael sighed, walking back to his bunk and sitting down, "No, no I'm not 'ok'." He began, "Over half my men ended up dead today Jarod. Eighteen _real people._ They had names, lives, families! And now they've been reduced to corpses that we can't even find! And me!? I got out with a piece of shrapnel in my arm that didn't even have any real effect!"

"I mean, I got out without a scratch compared to some of them!" He yelled, "Johan lost an arm, Philip probably won't ever walk again, and I get out with a 'good job' from the captain of the ship!"

Jarod looked at his friend, seeing his emotional state collapse in front of him. Tears were trailing down Michael's cheeks, and he looked like he would collapse at any second. When he finished his rant, Michael slammed his fist into the wall, a loud crack sounded, quickly followed by a spout of colorful language.

When the pain in his hand seemed to mellow out, he spoke again, "This isn't a video game Jarod. That piece of shrapnel? That hurt like hell. It burned, worse than anything I've ever felt before. I could barely move my arm for a good few minutes, and when I did, it _hurt_. We don't _get_ any extra lives, we don't _get_ any revives, we don't _get_ _any second chances._ " He sighed, rubbing a hand through his hair, "And I don't even know how I managed to hold it together in front of that Farseer. Shock maybe, I don't know."

"The worst part is I _know_ it's not my fault! We're facing the worst monsters the galaxy has to offer. Casualties are not something people consider after the fact, they're _planned._ Imperial commanders _plan_ to have five, ten, twenty percent casualties, hell _I_ planned on there being casualties! And yet here I am! Balling my eyes out!"

Jarod got up walked over to his friend, putting his hands on his shoulders awkwardly. The height difference was obvious, Michael standing a half-foot taller than the psyker.

"Michael. Right now, you're going through a mental breakdown. Your mind is wondering 'maybe if I moved quicker' or 'if I paid more attention', that maybe more of them would be alive. And maybe that's true, but I know you. You gave it your all, you didn't do things halfway and you did the best you could. You need your emotional mind to accept that. Besides, If you- HURK!"

Jarod never got to finish his speech as Michael's arms wrapped around him, the air inside Jarod's lungs deciding to move out and start a family. Maybe get married, have a few kids, the works.

In any case, the bro-hug didn't last long as Michael finally let Jarod breath, "Michael… please don't do that… again…" Jarod said between heaves.

Michael chuckled, wiping a tear off his face, "I know your not much of a hug person, but that helped more than you might realize." He remarked.

Jarod smiled, patting Michael on the shoulder, "Next time, don't crush my ribcage."

[-]

 **A/N: Anyway, that's it for this chapter! Happy new year everybody!... I just realized that both last chapter and this chapter were posted on a holiday… huh…**


	7. Chapter 7

**985.M41: The Emperor's Boot**

 **Storage bay 12**

Jarod stared at the Rogue Trader as he stood in front of the Farseer. Robert insisted that he meet the Eldar, saying that he had dealt with them before - the fact that that ended with several dead guardsmen and aspect warriors was beside the point. In any case, the two were now across from one another, their faces straighter than the stick up Khaine's ass.

He was subtly trying to read the minds of everybody in the room, a trick he had learned after Michael's mental breakdown. Most of the humans were apprehensive, many of them gripping their weapons or glaring at the Eldar, often both. He wasn't able to get much of a read on the Eldar, as every time he tried to read one of their minds, they would turn and glare at him.

The space marines standing on either side of the entrance to the room were in a similar position to the Eldar, except instead of glaring at Jarod with contempt when he tried to read their minds, they did the mental equivalent of rolling their eyes and ignoring him. It wasn't like he could accurately read their thoughts anyway, only being able to read their surface emotions.

The tension in the air was thick enough that you could cut through it with an over-used joke, so much so that when the Farseer finally spoke, Jarod could actually _feel_ the tension leaving the room.

"I see that you are the one guiding the two travelers," Elirom observed, gesturing to Michael and Jarod.

Robert scoffed, "Travelers indeed. I will have you know that the two of them are the only reason you're alive right now. Had it been up to me, I would have left you on that rock." he said candidly.

Half the Eldar in the room scowled, the other half wearing helmets that covered their expressions. Elirom kept a straight face, however, choosing instead to keep a level head in order for diplomacy to win out over pride and stupidity.

"I will refrain from causing any further ill will between our people, Captain, but I will ask that you return me and my people to our craftworld. And if possible, allow Michael and Jarod to stay there for a time as well." He explained.

Jarod wasn't against taking the Eldar back to their craftworld, heck it was probably their best option, but hearing Elirom suggest that they stay there for a while? That seemed a bit much to ask. Granted they would probably still do it - because why not - but it seemed even Elirom wasn't immune to Aeldari arrogance.

Regardless, Robert put a hand under his chin, thinking it over.

"I can arrange for you to be brought back to your craftworld, but Michael and my heir will have the final say of how long they will stay on your ship if they set foot on it at all." He explained.

Elirom nodded, allowing a small smile to come over his face, "We are in agreement then. The Aeldari and I will remain in this storage room. We have enough rations to last us, and if we need more I am sure we can work out another arrangement."

Robert finally let go of his poker face, a grin coming over his features, "For a 'filthy Xenos' you seem to know how to negotiate." He said, holding out a hand.

Elirom shook it, both recognizing that there was no going back. When the handshake was made, that was it.

While the remaining humans and space marines soon left the storage room, Jarod noticed Robert put his hand up to his nose, before pulling them away revealing a bit of blood on his fingertips. Robert frowned, before wiping his nose and turning to follow the rest of his crew. Jarod frowned, brushing his psyche against Robert, only reading the frustration about whatever that was.

[-]

Matthias sighed as he checked the diagnostics on the Gellar field. Not that it was damaged, or that it was in need of maintenance, but simply so that he had something to do. He needed an excuse to stay away from the Xenos down in the storage room.

It wasn't that the questioned the motives of the Rogue Trader, or of the two men that he had taken as impromptu apprentices, but he did wonder why they were so willing to consort with aliens. He may have been a more progressive member of the mechanicum, but even he didn't want to work around the Xenos and their heretical technology.

He had resigned himself to the fact that he would be working on the same ship with them, however. Hopefully, their interactions would be kept to a minimum.

He was shaken from his thoughts when Jarod barged into the room, a half-empty bottle in his right hand, and a wrench in the left.

"IT'S TIME FOR SCIENCE~!" He yelled dramatically.

Matthias spent the better part of an hour trying to keep the drunken Rogue Trader heir from breaking anything, though he was unable to stop him from making an odd modification to the Gellar fields.

He prayed to the Omnissiah that whatever Jarod did it would not cause any problems, as a Daemon incursion was the last thing he needed to deal with.

Fortunately, as the days turned into weeks, and those weeks into a couple of months, the device only seemed to vibrate and glow every now and again, appearing to do nothing. What that could mean, Matthias had no idea. Still, according to some of the braver enginseers on board, the Eldar appeared rather calm considering their situation.

Mattias was not happy when he was told that the Eldar had broken something in the storage room, and it was his duty to deal with it. He headed out of the engine room, down the lift, and into the room where the Xenos were staying. He started to question his sanity and willingness to continue working on The Emperors Boot when the first thing he saw was Captain Michael wrestling an Eldar Striking Scorpion to the floor, a ring of Eldar and Guardsmen surrounding them and cheering.

Granted both groups were segregated to one side each, but they weren't trying to go at each other's throats when two of them were clearly in the process of combat. Matthias muttered under his breath about his employers being _far_ too liberal with their relationships with Xenos. How Michael had gotten the poor sap to agree to the contest was a miracle in and of itself that Matthias was not willing to deal with.

He eventually identified the problem he had been originally summoned to deal with. That problem being a servitor that had gotten its top half stuck underneath a crate… somehow. With a sigh, the Tech-priest began the arduous process of removing the servitor and repairing the thing.

As he was working, Michael finished his fight and spotted Matthias, and further decided to walk over and make some conversation with the liberal-minded cogboy.

"So, they actually got you to come and get the thing unstuck?" Michael asked as he observed Mattias work.

"To be fair, I doubt the others had any better idea on how you managed to get the servitor in this position than I do. And me being at the head of the command chain, I was the one who got stuck with it." Matthias said in a clipped and irritated tone.

Michael flinched at his attitude, "For the record, It was kind of everybody's fault. We had two servitors chucking crates, and this one-" Michael patted the crate, "-was just a bit too big for it." He explained.

Matthias eyed Michael, before looking at the ground and seeing the myriad of scrapes that covered the ground, giving his story merit. Matthias shook his head, "I'm still confused how you managed to get the Xenos to… well, play games with you. Aren't the Eldar, and I quote, 'high-and-mighty space elves with nothing better to do than look down on us'?" He asked.

Michael shrugged, "Never said they weren't, I just managed to appeal to their superiority complex. Well, that and whatever counts as competition for them."

Matthias looked back to the ring of people, where two Eldar were now fighting in hand-to-hand.

"And this will help us… how?" He asked.

Michael chuckled, "Well, right now it ensures that they won't try and stab us in the back. And, if what the farseer says is true, we may end up working with them more in the future."

Matthias rolled his eyes, "Clearly I won't wake up one day with a shuriken pistol pointed to my head with your attitude."

Michael snorted before running off to rejoin the ring.

[-]

Elirom observed the two species from a distance. Their little competitions were certainly a way to keep tensions down, and he was thankful that Michael had suggested it. It was also good that he had approached the Farseer with the idea first as well, as the rest of the Eldar would have sooner relived Michaels head from his shoulder's if he'd suggested the idea outright.

The Eldar were far too proud for their own good, something the Farseer recognized. He was glad that Michael and Jarod had recognized the fact as well, as they both took steps to mitigate the problem.

The Eldar would never admit it, but the games gave them a good way to weed out their superiority complex. It turned out that yes, the Eldar won about eighty percent of the competitions held, but they still lost some of them, letting them know that they were not invincible.

It also helped that Michael had little pride to speak of. Yes he was still human, no he did not like losing, but he was a good sport about it and congratulated those that had beat him. Elirom smiled as he remembered the first time Michael won one of the fights with an Eldar, instead of gloating or jeering as the Eldar had, he actually helped the Eldar up and gave him his due respect.

After that fight, the guardsmen and Eldar seemed to get along rather well. They were still wary of each other of course, entire lifespans of hatred and indoctrination will do that, but they no longer felt the need to sleep with one eye open.

He smiled when he saw Michael walking over to him, having just conversed with the tech-priest.

"I must thank you again Michael, your efforts have kept our people from a fate that many would consider… unfortunate."

Michael grinned, "Well, I'd rather my crew be alive instead of dead, so I can't really complain either. Also, I had a question… shouldn't you lot hate traveling through the warp?" He asked.

Elirom nodded, "Under normal circumstances yes, traveling through the warp instead of the Webway is… uncomfortable at the best of times. Our souls shine brighter than those of humans, so we often attract unwanted attention from She-Who-Thirsts. Though I must confess that whatever technology you have shielding your ship is better than most Imperial vessels."

Michael shrugged at the compliment, "Well, I can't tell you what our gellar field does differently the regular ones, but at least it keeps you guys safe from He… She… It, I'm just going to call it an it."

Elirom raised an eyebrow, "You do not call the dark gods by their names?" He asked.\

Michael shook his head, "Oh I definitely do, we've already had a run in with Nurgle-" Elirom shuddered, "-cultists, a couple of Khornate space marines, and Jarod actually had a full-on conversation with Tzeentch." he explained.

Elirom shook his head, eyeing the human next to him, "Jarod has _spoken_ with the serpent? And he has not been corrupted!?" he asked, very surprised.

Michael shrugged, "For the record, we have a lot of experience with Chaos in general. And I for one have _no_ interest in being turned into a screaming pile of flesh." He said casually.

Elirom looked into Michael's psyche, suddenly very wary of everyone onboard the ship, but found that his soul was totally free of taint, as were the souls of every other human in the storage room. He was extremely surprised at that final fact.

When he had been greeted by the two space marines, he had sensed the corruption of Khorne on one of them, but that corruption seemed to be rather limited in nature. Jarod just seemed like a pure light in the warp, so Elirom had not even bothered to check him for any form of corruption, but hearing what Michael said? It made his mind reel.

[-]

 **A/N: Another shorter chapter, and the last one before the first major time skip. A bit of exposition as well, as now Y'all know how Michael has been keeping the humans and Eldar from killing each other.**

 **Anyway, I've started college classes for the year, so chapters will probably be a good bit more sporadic than before, so keep that in mind. Next chapter will be a good bit longer, due to what I have in mind. I'm doing my best to keep the MC's from being Mary Sue's, so if you guys have any suggestions, or if I start writing them as worse Mary Sue's than they already are, let me know!**


	8. Chapter 8

**986.M41: The Emperor's Boot**

 **Observation deck**

It had been roughly eight months since they had entered the warp, and everyone was eager to reach their destination. The Eldar and Humans had only strengthened their sense of comradery, many of the Eldar walking freely about the ship and conversing with the crew. The majority of this was due to captain Michael's efforts to repair many millennia worth of damage caused between the humans and Eldar.

Jarod had taken his time to investigate the Rogue Trader, and found that the several-hundred-year-old man was slowly dying to some disease that did not exist in the third millennium. It could have been cured of course, but Robert felt that he had lived long enough, and he was ready to join the Emperor's side.

His health had been deteriorating over the past several years, but he was now entering the last months of his life. It was one of the reasons he had been so eager to find an heir, and with Jarod's position as the 'savior of the galaxy,' the title of Rogue Trader would help him immensely.

In any case, Robert figured he still had a few years left and had decided to use that time to help Michael and Jarod in any way he could. At the moment, the best way he could help them was by taking them to the Eldar craftworld, which he was more than capable of doing.

" _Attention all hands!"_ Jarod called out over the intercom, his voice filling the entire ship, _"We will be exiting the warp momentarily, and if the Farseer's information is correct, there will be a craftworld waiting for us! So be ready for second contact!"_

Most of the Eldar, along with Michael and many crewmen had opted to stand in the observation deck, ready to get a good view of the craftworld when they first exited the warp.

Everyone, psyker or otherwise, felt when they exited the warp. It sent shivers down one's spine, and in the case of Jarod, it felt like someone was trying to change his fate… not that he would allow some Indecisive Mollusk decide what choices he would make.

When the blast windows finally retracted, and the many people sitting in the observation deck got to see what they thought would be a planet-sized ship, they were greeted by a very different image.

There the craftworld stood, in all its majesty, but standing next to it, was a ship of human design. The ship was huge, and if Jarod were to guess, a battleship by design. What stuck out the most about the ship, however, was the purple-pink coloration and the ridiculous amount of spikes on it.

The Eldar were the first to start panicking. Everyone started gearing up, putting on armor, checking weapons, and warming the engines of the dropships.

"Michael! You must get us down to the Craftworld now!" An Eldar ordered, ignoring the fact that Michael was currently in the process of getting his personal squad organized.

"I know, I know! I'm trying to get everything done without everyone tripping over each other. Right now I suggest you head down to the docking bay where the dropships are, all of you Eldar will be the first ones down there." Michael explained hurriedly.

The Eldar nodded, running off to join his kin in the dropships. Michael pressed his vox bead to try and reach Jarod, "Jarod are you there? Thing's are going haywire down here and the Eldar are about ready to blow a hole in the hull and just jump straight down to the craftworld!"

" _Hold on!- yes, yes I know it's chaos! Pretty sure the spikes gave it away!- Ok, Michael? I'm giving you control of the bay doors, get everyone off the ship and down to that- oh crap…"_

The ship shook as it was hit with something, likely one of the Chaos ships weapons. Michael gave up any attempt of reaching Jarod again and headed down to the docking bay. The Eldar were way ahead of him and were trying to cram themselves into the ships. Michael started barking orders to his men, getting the ships loaded and getting his own gear in order.

The ship was hit with several more projectiles in the time it took to get everyone loaded on the ship. When the bay doors opened, every single dropship filed its way out of the bay.

[-]

Salah cursed as her shuriken pistol ran out of ammunition _again._ The cursed Mon'keigh worshipers of she-who-thirsts were tearing through the Eldar ranks, destroying the spiritstones of any they could get their hands on. What was worse, was the fact that they still had yet to kill a single one of them.

There was no doubt that they were capable of killing them, but without heavy or specialized infantry they struggled to do so. They had formed a basic defensive line to keep them from being overrun, but they could only hold out for so long.

Salah was very surprised when several Mon'keigh ships flew low to the ground above the accursed Chaos worshippers and dozens of varied Eldar Aspect warriors started dropping out of them and landing in the midst of their enemies.

So taken by surprise by the attack, the Emperor's Children space marines were unable to defend themselves in the first few moments of the attack. Over a dozen marines were killed before the Aeldari reinforcements were driven back, and even then the space marines lost a large portion of the ground they had taken.

Salah sighed in relief, the hope that they could turn the battle around beginning to fuel her mind. The relief left as soon as it had come when there was an explosion, and a very loud voice shouting.

"LEEEEERROOOOOOY JEENKIIIIIIIINS!"

Looking up, she saw a short Mon'Keigh in a black trench-coat falling from the ceiling swinging a chainsword wildly and chucking psychically conjured fireballs down onto the traitor marines. When he landed, there was not a splat like she had wanted, but a soft landing caused by a talented psyker.

This did not change the fact that the traitor marine did not appreciate the chainsword that was being introduced to his unarmored head.

Soon enough there were two more explosions followed by two more space marines of different origin falling through the roof onto the chaos marines. The battle was enough of a distraction for the Eldar to get the upper hand on their enemy.

Things only got more confusing when even more Mon'keigh ships landed behind their defensive line, unloading many a Mon'keigh guardsman onto the battlefield, their weapons flashing as they poured lasfire into the chaos marines. Salah barely had time to register what was going on before Farseer Elirom stood before her.

"Exarch! I am glad you still live, but we must hurry! These humans are our allies, and they will assist us in driving these monsters off the craftworld!" He called out to her.

Salah blinked. Nodded. And reloaded her shuriken pistol.

It was going to be a long day.

[-]

"Jarod! Get back here, you're not a super-human warrior you'll get yourself killed if you-" Michael never finished his sentence, as he witnessed Jarod being backhanded by a traitor marine, his body flying back to friendly lines.

Michael cursed under his breath and ran over and to check on his friend, and yes, he was still breathing, even if when Michael pressed on his chest his ribs moved in way's they really shouldn't have.

"Well… that's one way to do it…" He said with a sigh, signaling a guardsman to get Jarod back to the ship. Jarod really didn't need to keep doing this kind of thing, and Michael really didn't want his friend dead.

Fortunately, they were able to get Jarod onto one of the last ships heading back to the Emperor's Boot. Michael turned his attention towards the battle. The guardsmen were doing their best to drive the rogue Astartes back while staying out of the direct line of fire. Our upgraded lasguns really did work wonders it seems.

The Eldar had seemed to form two groups; The ones we brought with us, which were mixed in with the guardsmen and actually gave a crap about pulling one or two of them out of the way of a stray bolt round, and the craftworld Eldar, which tried to put as much distance between themselves and us as possible, using the former group as a buffer.

Michael rolled his eyes before turning to try and spot the two space marines they had brought with them. Alaric and Calivar were doing wonders among the ranks of the Emperor's Children, tearing them apart with their melee weapons of choice.

Michael smiled, before signaling his men to move forward, slowly. He knew better than to order around the Eldar, even those that he had spent the better part of a year with. They probably would have followed his orders, but not because he ordered them, merely because it was the logical thing to do. They probably would have resented him after the fact as well.

In any case, they succeeded in pushing back, even managing to reach the point where they were now walking over the corpses of several dead chaos marines. That was when things started going wrong.

The first indication that the situation was FUBAR was when a seemingly dead traitor marine reached up and grabbed a guardsman's leg, crushing the bones and tossing him to the side as he got up. Shurikens and lasbolts impacted the marine, but he simply laughed in agony, the effects of He… She… IT, coming through in full force.

Several more of the traitor marines started doing the same, laughing as the lasbolts melted the flesh off their bones and shurikens shredded their insides. The humans and Eldar began to retreat, running from the Emperor's Children that were getting up around them.

Michael found himself at the back of the retreat, urging his men forward and firing a few lasbolts behind him. He stopped for a moment, helping a fallen Eldar - howling banshee is remembered correctly - to her feet and pushing her forward. He choked when a massive, purple, armored hand gripped his neck. Michael grappled at the fingers but knew that it wasn't much use.

The Emperor's Children marine laughed, "I must admit, I am surprised that guardsmen would so willingly aid a Xeno. What great desperation has caused you to do such a thing?" He asked. Michael gurgled in response, incapable of forming words through the adamantium grip.

"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter. Their souls will be quite the treat for The Prince of Pleasure, and your screams will be music to his ears." The marine said with a chuckle. Reaching up, he carefully grabbed Michael's arm and pulled it outwards, stretching the muscles to their limits.

Michael grunted in pain, knowing what was to come and trying his best to deny the chaos servant his screams. His tendons stretched to their limits, and he felt his shoulder finally dislocate with a sickening pop. Michael let out a scream as the marine continued to laugh and pull. His screams turned to a silent gasp as he felt his flesh rip apart, his arm taking a chunk of his left shoulder with it.

The corrupted marine laughed, tossing the arm to the side as he admired the bleeding hole where Michael's shoulder should have been. He laughed and laughed, holding Michael up for all to see.

His laughter was cut short, when the arm holding Michael was severed at the elbow, a power sword glowing with energy. The marine screamed in pain, and the severed arm released its grip on Michael as he fell to the ground. Michael didn't make a sound as he hit the ground, his eyes glazing over as he barely understood what was going on.

"Calivar! Get him to safety!" Alaric yelled, pointing his power sword towards the traitor marine.

Calivar grunted as he yanked his ax out of a marines head, dashing over and looking over Michael's somehow still living body, "And what do you want me to do? He'll be dead in a few minutes!" He complained.

Alaric didn't answer, as he was locked in combat with the crazed marine. Calivar groaned, turning back to survey the retreating Guardsmen and Eldar. He soon spotted the farseer running against the flow of the crowd towards them, reaching them soon after he had been spotted. The Eldar kneeled over Michael's body, not deigning to touch him.

"We need to get him to one of your healers, a medic I believe you called them!?" Elirom said in a slightly panicked voice.

Calivar cursed, "I am aware! But if we move him we risk causing even more damage." He said, swapping out his ax for a bolter and firing a few times into the crowd of now retreating chaos space marines.

With so many deaths, and with Alaric winning his duel with their leader, the traitor marines had evidently decided to run and live to fight another day. Surprising, given their solid if crazed nature.

Elirom seemed to be doing his best not to panic as he tried to use his psychic abilities to see what kind of damage had been done to Michael. After coming to a rushed conclusion that if he was moved then he would die and if he was left there long enough for one of the human medics to arrive he would die, Elirom decided to take a desperate gamble.

Reaching into the warp, he used his power to heal a few of Michael's wounds, successfully halting the bleeding. Unfortunately, his gamble failed when Michael gasped, coming back to full consciousness and screaming in agony. Elirom cursed, using a more basic piece of psychic skill to put Michael into a silent, if uncomfortable, sleep.

"There, we should be able to move him now. Where do we go?" Elirom asked.

Alaric had finished his fight by this point, and walked over to where they were standing, "I have already called down a ship, it will be here in a few minutes, in the meantime, we should move him to a safer location." He ordered. Alaric grunted in affirmation, before hoisting Michael's unconscious form over his shoulder and running toward friendly lines.

[-]

" _Join us! Claim the power offered to you!"_

" _You think they'll give me power!? You think they give YOU power!? You're nothing more than a puppet!"_

" _GRAH! They are nothing! I have risen above them! I have become what mortals could never dream of!"_

[-]

" _You are more than you give yourself credit for."_

" _Heh. I learned from the best."_

" _Hmm. If that is the case then who have you been learning from?"_

" _Why, isn't it obvious? It's you. You taught me how to turn you into dust."_

[-]

" _Your soul is quite spacious."_

" _Well, you of all people would know, I killed you after all."_

" _Heh. Indeed you did. To think I was bested by a mere mortal."_

[-]

" _No… What have you done… WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"_

" _I fixed the mess you made! I just saved the galaxy!"_

" _You fool! Now I shall never be made whole!"_

" _If you being with your so-called 'grandfather' is so important, why don't you say hi for me?"_

[-]

Matthias sighed as he looked at Michael's sleeping form. It was a miracle that he was alive, let alone the fact that he was somehow healing at an alarming rate. Perhaps it was due to whatever the Eldar had done. That was quite likely all thing's considered, though the tech-priest was still baffled that the Eldar had _no_ form of medical force.

In any case, it was doubtful that Michael would be comfortable with losing an arm, the better part of his shoulder, and a good chunk of the blood in his body. The latter problem was solved through a simple blood transfusion, but the former problems… well, that was a bit more complex.

When Matthias had approached Jarod with the issue, he had simply told him to give Michael an arm that could rival that of a space marine. Matthias had scoffed initially, and when he'd asked for a legitimate answer Jarod had simply shrugged and told him to do whatever he thought best. The only condition was that Michael should be able to get a new one should he need it.

It was then that Matthias set out to give Michael a temporary prosthetic left arm.

Matthias sighed as he connected another nerve to the cybernetics. Michael's biology was confusing at best, and counteractive to his work at worst. It was like someone had taken the normal human genome, and simplified it to the extreme.

To put it simply, his genome was the purest form of DNA Matthias had ever seen. In his opinion, it was as if the DNA of most humans had been… diluted, for lack of a better word. He was not a part of the Magos Biologis, but even he could see that Michael's body was well beyond that of the average man.

Setting aside his theories on Michael's biology, Matthias spent a few more minutes working until he finally finished connecting the nerves to the arm mount. It was a basic thing that barely covered where his shoulder once was, but a new arm could be easily connected or swapped out with a different model, and if he wanted to go with a more permanent option, then the mount was perfectly capable of being disassembled to nothing more than the nerve connectors.

Moving over to his bench, he rifled through a few basic arm components, before he heard a loud gasp and a clang from behind him. Nearly flying out of his seat, he turned around to find Michael lying face first on the ground, groaning.

"Why am I on the floor…" Michael asked with a groan, pushing himself up with one arm and stumbling to the side as if he had been trying to use both arms. Confused, he looked down to his bare chest and saw the mass of metal where his arm should be.

"Um… cybernetics are cool and all, but where's my arm?" He asked, mildly alarmed.

Matthias tilted his head to the side slightly "Do you not remember?" He asked.

Michael used his remaining arm to push himself up against the table where he had been laying, shaking his head, "The last thing I remember that wasn't a dream was getting grabbed by… something, no idea what it was. We were fighting Emperor's Children, I know that much. How long was I out?" he asked in a confused tone.

Matthias nodded, "You were grabbed by the leader of the warband, who then proceeded to rip your arm off. As for how long you were unconscious, well it's been about eighteen hours since you were brought back onto the ship." Matthias explained, his lack of subtlety being noted by Michael's shocked expression.

Michael shook his head, "Wait… so you're saying that I was grabbed by a chaos space marine… and I'm _not_ a steaming pile of mulch?" He asked, his breath picking up in pace.

Matthias shrugged, "I wasn't there, I was just told what happened by Jarod and Alaric." He explained, before finally picking up on what Michael had first said, "Wait, dreams?" He asked.

Michael nodded, rubbing his temple, "Yeah, I'm… oh," He chuckled suddenly, muttering something about mass effect, "I guess it was just a bunch of images, fighting, talking, and a lot of destruction." he explained.

Matthias hummed, before going back to shuffling through parts, "Well, whatever It was It doesn't matter to me. Ah!" he lifted an arm out of the pile, "Here, this should be good until we can build you a new one."

Matthias proceeded to help Michael get the arm attached. After giving it a few experimental movements, Michael let out a low whistle, "I know biological arms are cool and all, but this thing has a lot of potential."

Matthias and he chatted for a few minutes before the door to the medbay opened, Jarod walking into the room, "Ah! You're awake!" He said in a pleased voice.

Michael shrugged, "Woke up a few minutes ago. Still trying to figure out how I managed to survive being grabbed by a chaos space marine but that is neither here nor there."

Jarod nodded, "Well, in any case, we should probably get going. Elirom wanted us to head down to the craftworld as soon as you woke up." he explained.

Michael nodded, getting dressed and heading down to the craftworld.

[-]

Salah was very confused. She tried to ward off that confusion by helping destroy the corpses of the worshippers of she-who-thirsts. She felt her muscles tense every time one of the Mon'keigh guardsmen would get more than a few meters from her, and she almost killed several of them, her extreme discipline staying her had. She had not become an Exarch by being unable to control her own actions after all.

She trusted the Farseer's judgment, but even then, she still struggled to understand why Elirom trusted these Mon'keigh so implicitly. Yes, they had fought alongside each other against their mutual foe, yes they had a shared interest in bringing down the threat of chaos, but they were still Mon'keigh.

Those of the Imperium had killed hundreds of her people - they had killed her own sister… and now the Farseer wanted her to trust them. It was a complex and counter-intuitive situation, made even worse by the actions of a certain Mon'keigh, one who seemed to be leading them.

The man had stopped running, he had stopped his own retreat in order to pick her up when she had lost her footing. He hadn't even blinked before he did so, and when she saw him being grabbed by the servant of She-who-thirsts… she didn't even consider helping him, not even to simply fire off her weapon to distract the marine.

The man was probably dead now, not that Salah cared all that much. She was confused by the situation, but she would not mourn a Mon'keigh, she was Aeldari, she was higher than them. And yet her resolve seemed to falter.

She found herself wondering who the man was, if he was somehow still alive, and if resented her for leaving him to die.

It was during these thoughts that she was startled by the Farseer.

"Salah," He asked, causing her to jump slightly, "What confuses you so much?" He asked.

Salah shook her head, "It is nothing Farseer, I am simply… confused as to why we ally ourselves with the Mon'keigh." She said, brushing the question aside.

The farseer raised an eyebrow, "Really now? I see your expression Exarch. I am aware of your past, but you must understand that this is the only path to our survival."

"And if they turn on us? If they lure us into a sense of false security, only to stab us in the back."

Elirom sighed, "Despite your beliefs, it may surprise you to know that it is the Aeldari that betray the alliances with the humans more often than not. I was given access to many records of the alliances between our peoples, and I must say that my respect for many of our cousins has… wained, so to speak." he explained.

Salah scoffed, "And they do not hunt us like pests? They show no respect for their betters, they should be bowing to us!"

"Should they? Should they bow to the race they believe to be the cause for She-who-thirsts?" He asked, shocking the Exarch, "Make no mistake, the two that I went out in search of are more than aware that we ourselves are in no way responsible, but the majority of humanity believes that we are the cause of that catastrophe."

Salah shook her head, "That was the Drukhari! Our ancestors remained within the webway, away from the perversion of our race the Drukhari had become!" She almost yelled, her fists clenched and shaking.

"Did it not occur to you that most humans do not know the difference between us and the Drukhari?" He asked, causing Salah's thoughts to halt in their tracks, "Just as we do not know the intricacies of the humans, most humans do not know ours. Tell me, to which traitor chapter do the Astartes corpses you are destroying belong to?"

Salah simply shook her head. All space marines looked the same to her, she only knew that the ones they fought were the servants of she-who-thirsts and that those that the Mon'keigh had brought with them did not.

Elirom smiled, "I thought not. To answer the question, they belong to the Emperor's Children Legion, and they were some of the first to betray humanity and turn to the dark gods." He explained.

Salah hung her head in thought and in even more confusion. The more she thought about it, the more and less sense her world made.

[-]

 **A/N: Well… this chapter fought me, that much is for sure. I don't know if it's the subject matter or having Chekov hold a gun to my head, but whatever it was I managed to get it done. Oh, and college is a thing, so that's fun.**

 **Anywho, reviews!**

 **Obsidian Prime:** Well, glad you managed to get the time to read it!

 **The Real Kitten:** Thought about drawing the breakdown scene out a bit further, but it kept feeling unnecessary and not 'real' if that makes any sense. As people in General, myself and Robocop3301 think more about these kinds of situations as if they may happen than may be healthy, so really I'm not a hundred percent sure that scene would have happened the way it did, but who knows. I hope you don't mind the darker tone this chapter took, and I hope you don't mind how dark it's _going_ to get. As much as I like writing the lightheartedness of this story, I think pokeman1280 said it best when he said that fluff is much better when it's earned.

Also, _please_ make an account so I can PM you this mess instead of artificially extending my word count XD


	9. Chapter 9

Elirom looked at the training ground upon which both men stood. The idea was to test the strengths and weaknesses of both of them, though considering Michael's recent surgery, and the fact that Jarod's ribcage was currently being held together by biofoam and wrappings, they might be slightly hindered in what they could test.

The first tests they tried were those of the Artisan paths, many of which Eldar chose to follow. They were partially successful, with Michael showing some skill in the path of the poet and Jarod in the path of the diplomat, but neither held any real amount of hope for those paths.

It was when they started getting into the paths that covered manipulating the materium and Immaterium that things started to get interesting.

Jarod focused as best he could but found that he was… anything but subtle.

"I swear it as if you have no knowledge of how to hide your soul in the Immaterium! I was not surprised when I first met with you, but for Isha's sake you must be capable of _some_ stealth!" Elirom chastised Jarod.

"Well, I'm doing everything Alaric taught me, suppressing my soul and thoughts within the warp, avoiding the daemons, all the normal stuff." He responded with a shrug.

Elirom sighed as he rubbed his temples, "Alright, it appears we must start from the beginning. I ask that you remove whatever bonds you might have on your mind. Here in the webway, your mind should be safe from whatever horrors that would try to prey on your mind."

Jarod shrugged, closing his eyes and letting loose the barriers that he had placed around his soul. When he opened his eyes again, he saw Elirom, eyes wide open and gripping his staff to the point where his knuckles had turned stark white. Eldar all around them had stopped what they were doing and started staring at them.

Jarod looked around, not altogether sure what he was supposed to do, "So… what now?" he asked.

Elirom shook his head, "W-what _are you_? I have never seen a soul so bright!" Elirom asked as he proceeded to almost hyperventilate.

Jarod blinked. He looked around at the crowd of Eldar that had gathered around them. He looked back at Elirom. He blinked again. "Would we perchance be able to speak in private?" He asked.

Elirom shook himself out of his stupor, "I do not see why that would even be needed. With your power… I do believe you could do anything you wanted."

Jarod shrugged, "I'll take that as a yes then? Do you have a private room or something?" He asked.

Elirom paused, before nodding hesitantly and leading Jarod to a more private area. The room they were in was fairly empty, with wraithbone floors and decorations. Jarod whistled as he looked through the floor to ceiling window that gave a view of the craftworlds cities. It reminded him of places such as Rivendale, the Citadel, or Orokin stuff.

Turning to the Farseer, he was still unnerved at how hesitant and fearful the Eldar seemed to be, "Why are you so scared of me all of the sudden?" Jarod asked.

The Eldar shook his head, "When you released the restraint on your power, it looked as if I was seeing the heart of a star. To give an example, a normal human soul is akin to a candle in the warp, with an Eldar soul being more like a bonfire. Your soul though… it is brighter than anything I have ever seen. As I said before, it is as if I am looking at a star." he explained, "I have never seen a soul as powerful as yours. At first, I thought that you simply did not know how to restrain your psychic abilities, but I now see that you are a near master of the art, considering how little of your power was showing through your mask."

Jarod let out a low whistle, taking in what the Farseer had said, "Alaric told me that when I first got my power, that it was like a stun grenade had gone off right in front of his face, but the light dissipated as soon as I shielded my mind."

Elirom nodded, "That would be an apt description, yes. And, if you would not mind, could you please suppress your soul further? I fear we are attracting attention here, and I would be lying if I said that your soul does not strain my mind to look at." He explained.

Jarod winced, before doing what was asked of him. He'd never thought that his soul was as bright as Elirom had said, but now he wondered just how powerful he was.

"You said earlier that I was powerful. Just how powerful do you think I am?" He asked sincerely.

Elirom hummed, his brow no longer strained, "You could likely do whatever your mind could come up with. I have seen you use your power to lift small objects or to enhance your physical abilities, but I do believe your potential is well beyond that."

Jarod chuckled, "Well alright then. Tell me everything you know." He said seriously.

Elirom blinked, "What?"

"Tell me everything you know. You're older than I am, you know more about how to manipulate the warp, how to read minds, how to see into the future, how to conjure lightning. I want to know all of it." Jarod explained.

The Farseer was felt a great deal of surprise. Not only was this human acknowledging that the Eldar was his better when it came to matters of the immaterium, but he was asking to learn! Most Elder would deny the man's request. Most would take the opportunity to gloat, to hold their knowledge over his head only to snatch it away at the last second. Those Eldar were foolish.

Elirom straightened, "I will teach you what I know. I will help to prepare you for what is to come, and I hope that you will be wise enough to learn."

Jarod smiled, "And I will do my best to learn. I don't exactly have any plans on being Daemon food."

[-]

Michael continued to marvel at the world around him, the towering skyscrapers, the beautiful plant life, and the many Eldar sneering at him if he got close enough to see them. He ignored them. The council that ran the craftworld had given Michael and Jarod limited free reign of the craftworld, and Michael had been taking advantage of that via exploration.

He'd seen many shops, houses, and factories, all with Eldar working there. At one point he entered a park, where several Eldar stood around and talked. He even spotted a pair of children, which made him smile sadly. Children were rare among the Eldar, that was for sure. Slaanesh's birth had made sure of that. He stood at the edge of the park, out of earshot and at an angle that made it difficult for anyone to know he was watching. The parents of the children would probably urge them home at best, or outright attack him at worst.

He was brought out of his thoughts by a tug on his sleeve. Looking down, he blinked at the sight of a little girl. She said something in the Eldar language, which even though Michael had no idea what she was saying, it sounded like she was singing. He smiled and kneeled down in front of her.

"I have no idea what you just said, but I'll take it as a compliment." He said with a smile.

The girl wrinkled her nose. He wasn't sure if she understood what he'd said at first, so it came as quite a surprise when she answered him in low gothic - albeit a bit broken.

"Mother say you bad. You not look bad though, you not feel bad." She said.

Michael laughed. Already the girl was more diplomatic than ninety percent of her species, "No, I'm not bad. Though I understand why your mother says I am. People like me have done a lot of bad things." He explained.

"You not do bad things?" She asked.

"No, I don't do bad things. I help people, like you and your mother. I want to stop people who do bad things."

She blinked, tilting her head slightly, "Like the bad people who made father go away?" She asked innocently.

Michael's heart skipped a beat, and the smile fell from his face. Her father was probably dead, all things considered, and odds are it happened in the battle against the traitor marines. Shaking his head, he forced a smile back onto his face, "Yes, I stop those people."

"Will father come back?"

"No, child," A voice said from behind Michael. Michael got up quickly and looked to the source of the voice. The Eldar in question was a woman in howling banshee armor, with a hand on one of her swords, and a dangerous glare in her eyes as she stared at Michael, "Your father will not come back."

The little girl pouted, before spouting off something in moonspeak. A quick conversation with the howling banshee had the girl frowning, with tears in her eyes as she scurried off, likely going to find her mother.

"I take it you don't deal with kids often?" Michael asked, the woman shooting him a glare.

"Do not mistake the council's trust for mine, Mon'keigh. Your people have caused more than their share of suffering." She said quickly.

"First off, I have a name. It's Michael. Second off, I'm not the Imperium." Michael said.

The woman scoffed, "So you claim innocence then?" she asked.

"Even if I did, I don't think you'd believe me. You people have had a grudge against humanity for how many millennia now? I'm pretty sure it goes both ways at this point." He explained.

"Your kind has killed countless of ours, our contempt is justified." She said.

Michael shrugged, "I never said it wasn't. Just know that you've killed just as many, often times unprovoked." He offered.

The Eldar frowned, before looking off in the direction the child ran, "Why did you save me?" She asked.

Michael blinked, "Uh, what?"

"I asked, why did you save me? Surely there was a reason."

"Uh, for the record, I have no idea who you are. If I saved you during the battle, your welcome, if it was at some other point, then I have no idea what you're talking about."

This time she blinked, a look of surprise coming over her features, "You do not remember me?" She asked.

Michael shook his head, "I pulled a lot of people out of the line of fire that day, if yours was one of them, cool. But I'm sorry if I don't recognize your face."

"You picked me up off the ground, sending me forward while one of the worshipers of she-who-thirsts attacked at injured you." She said, pointing to his cybernetic arm.

Michael just shrugged, "I don't know what to tell you. I don't pay attention to who I'm saving during a battle, and I don't care if it puts me in the line of fire. Besides, I ended up with a cool looking arm, who am I to complain?" He said.

The Eldar looked at him with a bewildered expression, disbelieving of the fact that someone, much less a human, would save them out of the goodness of their heart. It wasn't as if the Eldar were unkind to one another, but she had lived most of her life looking out for herself, as had those around her.

"And I wasn't lying to the girl," He said, causing her to look at him quizzically, "Humanity has fallen, so much so that I don't really think it will ever reach the point it was at during the golden age of technology. Chaos has corrupted half of humanity and the Imperium is crumbling under its own weight."

The howling banshee sighed, "I will admit, it pleases me to see that someone sees the folly of your species. We have seen it-"

"That's not to say you've done any better," Michael interrupted, causing the Eldar to glare at him, "You still cling to the hope that you can still bring your species back from the brink. You still believe yourselves superior to humans and other races, and yet you are in more dire straits than the rest of us. Your race is divided, one half wandering around on planet-sized ships trying to survive, while the other half sits around torturing helpless people For kicks."

Salah was speechless. She almost drew her blade then and there, her hand gravitating toward her waist.

"Then again _you_ didn't do anything." Michael said abruptly, shaking the Eldar from her stupor, "I mean, you can't exactly blame one person for the actions of their ancestors. If you did that I don't think there would be any humans left in the galaxy."

Once again Salah found that she couldn't speak. Not only was Michael criticizing his own race, but he goes right back to insulting the Aeldari, only to-

"I mean, for crying out loud _Adolf Hitler_ existed! Stalin, Hilary… ugh, there's way too many. Humanity is a self-destructive _mess._ And even forty thousand years didn't fix it! G-o-g-e Vandire, the evilest sounding name in existence. I mean, seriously, who the hell names their kid that!? And The Horus Heresy, I mean, the guy turned into the craziest person in the galaxy, and killed how many people? Seriously, if you judged the whole race on them alone, you might as well just kill us all."

Salah blinked.

"But then you have people like Gandhi, Mother Teresa, the freaking pope!... most of the time. If you judged the entire species by them then we might as well be considered the nicest species in existence. Honestly, that is neither here nor there, as every species has its positives and negatives. All I'm trying to do is fix this mess." Michael finished.

Salah didn't even try to speak, taking as long as she needed to compute what Michael was saying. She would have understood if he was simply aware of his races folly, but he had gone well beyond that, speaking as if humanity itself disgusted him, and yet he praised several individuals - granted she did not know who they were, though she could make an educated guess.

"How are you so critical of your own race? They are your people! Your heritage!" she asked.

"Are the Drukhari not yours? Are they not _your_ heritage? It's the same reason. I criticize the people that mess with our reputation and make our lives harder, and I'm not afraid to punch anyone that tries to commit genocide." He explained.

Michael sighed, "Look, we can go back and forth on this for _days_ if we keep at it, so unless you have any intention of changing your opinion of us lowly Mon'keigh? I'll be exploring."

He turned to walk off, leaving the Exarch near speechless.

"Kiara."

Michael stopped in his tracks, "What was that?" he asked.

"Her name. The child who you spoke to. Her name is Kiara."

Micheal smiled, "Showing trust already are we? Who knows, maybe you'll tell me your name next." he said with a chuckle.

"Salah. My name is Salah, Exarch of the Howling Banshees." She said with a grimace.

Micheal's laugh ceased, and his eyes widened. An appropriate response given her rank, and it gave her a small feeling of pride when he realized his mistake- and now he was grinning ear to ear.

"Guess I picked the right day to go for a walk," he said, before finally walking off.

[-]

Robert coughed into his fist, leaning against the wall of the hallway. He grimaced as blood covered his palm, and he slowly made his way to the medical ward.

 _I thought I had another decade at least… shows the accuracy of those tests I suppose…_ he thought to himself.

He stumbled into the medical ward, the various nurses snapping their heads toward him as they rushed to help him. They connected a number of nodes and devices to read his vitals, and they started to panic when he collapsed into a coughing fit. A monitor beeped in warning, a nurse shouted, and he was injected with some kind of medicine.

 _I suppose you'll be taking over sooner rather than later Jarod Carolinus._

[-]

 **A/N: Well, that's it for this chapter. Bit shorter than some of the others, but I really didn't feel like drawing it out any further. The biggest reason my writing has slowed down is due to college and me trying to get a job, so there's that. Hopefully, I can speed up the writing process a bit.**

 **Also, if any of you are curious, the story 'Nomad: Tale of the Doombringer' is active again! It's on spacebattles, so you can read the now-canon omake I wrote over there (Which is what revived it).**

 **Reviews!**

 **Kossboss:** Thanks! Will do.

 **WordBearere01:** Maaaaaybe ;)

 **The Commissar:** Heresy is not allowed in the place! *BLAM*

 **Blaze1992:** Jarod will remain short, no matter how much his IRL counterpart nags me to change.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: So, I actually learned a lot about Farseers and a few other aspects of the 40k universe between this chapter and the last, and it's actually made me rethink the way Elirom's character will end up. That and a few other plot threads I had planned, but eh, that is neither here nor there.**

[-]

 **986.M41 Craftworld Aurorum III**

"Again!" Elirom instructed, and Jarod obliged by causing the constructs around him to fall to the ground and turn to dust.

Jarod smiled. They had been training for a week now, and he had finally come to get a grip on his abilities. They had started off simple, manipulating basic elements and states of matter, before moving forward to even more dangerous stunts. The disintegration of wraithbone constructs was just one of many experiments.

Jarod laughed as he used his abilities to reform the dust back into their original form, "You know, I imagined this would be a good bit harder. I mean, with Alaric I could barely manage a lightning bolt, and I only managed to get a fireball through sheer force of will." He commented.

"A common state of being with your people I am afraid. The way the Imperium trains its psykers is closer to a hammer, while the Aeldari, and by proxy you, train as a surgical instrument." Elirom explained.

Jarod hummed, "So when are we going to get into the mind reading stuff?" He asked, causing Elirom to freeze.

The Eldar sighed and shook his head, "While you are completely capable of reading someone's thoughts, speaking to someone through their mind, or even seeing into the future, I feel as though those should be left for a later date, as you may even discover them without my aid." He explained.

Jarod shrugged before he headed back to his living space. He and Michael had been given a shared house to live in, and the two of them had taken full advantage. The place was bigger than the cramped barracks they shared with the regiment before Robert had picked them up, and it was bigger than their quarters aboard the Emperor's Boot, but it felt… empty, for lack of a better word.

The kitchen, living room, bedrooms, and other spaces were all built from wraithbone, with a few bits of metal dotted about. aside from the necessities, there was no personalization, and it was hard to personalize something that technically wasn't even yours.

Jarod sighed as he flopped down onto the couch in the living room, taking his glasses off and rubbing his eyes. As much as he loved messing around with his powers, he did often feel a slight withdraw from his intense training sessions with Elirom.

"Rough day?" Michael asked as he walked into the room.

Jarod looked up to see Michael in cargo pants and a white tank-top, showing off his newer, more permanent arm.

"A bit. Finally got your new arm?" He asked, gesturing to the mechanical device.

Michael chuckled as he flexed the appendage, "Yep, got Matthias to install a few goodies too. Got a lasgun built in on the forearm. Pretty spiffy all things considered." He explained.

Jarod raised an eyebrow, "No tech-heresy?" He asked.

Michael shook his head, "Apparently it's a pretty standard get-up, nothing all that advanced going on. The thing can even run for days without recharging, and if worst comes to worst, it can run of las-gun battery packs if needed." He said.

Jarod smirked, "Does it have a vibrate function?"

Michael gave Jarod a deadpan stare, "Really?"

Jarod shrugged, before sitting up and pulling out his flask. He had gotten rather fond of Amesec in recent time and had decided to keep his flask filled with the stuff.

Michael frowned, "You know, I understand you drinking after a battle and what not, but do you have to carry that around wherever you go?" He asked.

Jarod sighed, sticking the flask back into his pocket, "We're in the forty-first Millennium, life sucks, there's only war and we're probably going to get eaten by Tyranids. Have fun."

Michael shook his head, "In any case, I'm heading out. There's still more of the craftworld to explore, and the Howling Banshee Exarch has been following me lately."

"Isn't this thing the size of a planet? Of course, there's still more to explore. And how the heck did you get an Exarch to start following you?" He asked.

Michael shrugged, "I'm not really sure, I think I made her mad when she tried to put me in my place."

Jarod rolled his eyes and laid back down on the couch.

[-]

Calivar stared into his helmets eye-sockets, wondering just where his life had taken a turn for the strange. Perhaps it was the fact that service to the blood god had lost much of its allure, or perhaps it was the fact that his brother was dead, but he had not felt the urge to spill blood.

Frowning, he took his tools and began grinding away at the Khornate symbols carved into his armor. He filed away at the armor, flakes of adamantium falling to the ground as the ruinous symbols slowly vanished. An hour is gone, and no forms of imagery were found on his armor. Nothing of Khorne, the Imperium, the Space Wolves, or the Emperor, a blank slate.

"Gone chapterless have you, cousin?" Alaric asked from behind him.

Calivar turned to face his loyalist brethren, "I betrayed my brothers for false promises. I see that now. I am simply fortunate enough to have left before I reached the point of no return."

"I may have abandoned my duty as a member of the Deathwatch, but I can firmly say that I am glad to see one such as you turn away from the ruinous powers. Far too many fall prey to them." Alaric said with a frown.

Calivar nodded solemnly, "I was not the only one of my brethren to fall to Khorne, and I do fear that I will not be the last. I will not lie, seeing those that have fallen prey to just one of the gods has ruined my image of what I was promised."

Alaric nodded, eyeing the polished armor. The previous red color had been painted jet black, a tradition of those who had been dishonored or if their chapter had been deemed lost. To many Astartes wore that color, in his opinion.

"I may have gone to a Daemon world to find the two of you, but I do believe you of all people did not wish to be there, am I correct?" Alaric asked.

Calivar nodded, "That world was - and still is I imagine - dedicated to Khorne, and all of that which it entails. I am not sure what I was thinking, why I followed my brother down that path."

Alaric tore his eyes from the blackened armor, and looked at his fellow Astartes, "What made you join the dark powers anyway? The wolves of Fenris are not known for being traitors, even if They do not see eye to eye with the Inquisition." he noted.

"As you said, the Vlka Fenrika and the Inquisition do not get along well at all. And it was just that which drove my brother to abandon the Imperium and to join the leagues of Chaos." Calivar started, "We had gotten into a… confrontation, which resulted in the Inquisition declaring us heretics. I believe my brother simply took the accusation to heart, and I was foolish enough to follow him."

Alaric hummed, thinking back to the days before he had joined the Deathwatch, "I will admit that the Inquisition is wholly corrupt from the inside out, however, I must say that there are many amongst them that have aided the Astral Winds at one point or another." He stated.

Calivar raised an eyebrow, "And how did you manage to gain the favor of the Inquisition?"

Alaric scoffed, "I do not think there is any living man in the Imperium that can claim they have gained the _favor_ of the Inquisition, I merely mean that we have managed to keep their suspicions off of us." He explained, "The chapters of the twenty-fourth founding are watched closely, and we will take whatever asylum we can get."

"You are of the twenty-fourth?" Calivar asked, "I will admit I have heard strange things about that founding."

Alaric nodded, "And the stories you have heard are likely not unfounded. I swear we were almost a second cursed founding…" He muttered.

"A second cursed founding? Is it really that bad?" He asked.

"Not quite, thankfully. Only one of the four chapters founded ever attempted to turn traitor, and even then it was a small number. The rest of us only came out with mutations at worst." Alaric explained, "I will not go into detail why our chapters have mutated so much - for there is a reason - I will only say that I have no wish to meet our Primarch, should he still be alive."

Calivar frowned. It was a bit strange for a space marine to not to meet their gene-sire. Even as a traitor, he still held a small wish to meet Leman Russ. He idly wondered which of the Emperor's sons had sired the Astartes of the Astral Winds.

[-]

 **986.M41 The Warp**

 **Planet of the Sorcerer's**

" **Must you be so arrogant?"** The cyclops asked the Slaaneshi marine, **"You** _ **lost**_ **, it is not all that strange an occurrence. Especially considering it was a** _ **craftworld**_ **that you attacked, what exactly were you thinking?"**

"We were to crush the Spirit-stones! We were to send their souls to the Prince of Pleasure!" The crazed marine ranted.

Magnus let out a sigh. He always loathed dealing with the servants of Slaanesh, so arrogant, only focused on their own goals and desires. Yes, he was aware that saying it made him somewhat of a hypocrite, but at least his plans served some kind of purpose. He sighed as he remembered how wrong his life had gone, the decisions he'd made, and how he had gotten to the position he was in now. Still, the traitor marines information was at least interesting.

" **I am aware of that whore of a god's obsession with the Eldar, but I am still mildly confused as to how you thought attacking a craftworld was a wise course of action. How did you** _ **not**_ **see that the Eldar would-"**

"It was NOT the Elder that drove us off! It was those _stupid_ Imperial dogs! They came to the defense of the Eldar! And one of them felt quite a bit like your ilk!" The marine interrupted him.

Magnus let out an exhausted sigh, the worshippers of Slaanesh really didn't have _any_ sense of self-preservation. Had they interrupted any of his brothers like that, he would have found his head relieved of his shoulders. For goodness sake, had he interrupted Magnus were he in any other mood he would have probably done the same as his brothers.

Thinking about his mood, Magnus wondered why he had been so… calm, as of late. It wasn't as if anything had changed really, no, it was more as if the world around him did not affect him as it originally had. No longer did he feel the need to subjugate those around him, and he felt his disdain for both his father and Tzeentch grow in intensity. This wasn't anything new, he had always felt hatred towards the two, but now… now it was less outright hatred.

He didn't ponder on it much, however, as he had more pressing matters on hand, **"If they were a servant of Tzeentch than I would no doubt be aware of their plots. Besides, do you think the Eldar would willingly make a deal with the ruinous powers?"** He asked.

The marine growled, before throwing his hands in the air and leaving the room. Magnus snickered as the marine stepped off the edge of a cliff the second he opened the door. The Eye of Terror was fun like that, not following the rules of physics and all that. His smirk soon turned into a frown when he began to consider the implications of the marine's speech.

A group of human's even knowing the location of a craftworld was odd in and of itself, but that could easily be explained away. What was truly strange was the fact that the Eldar and Humans seemed to be working together.

It seemed as though something was going on behind the scenes, and he didn't like that he didn't know what was going on.

[-]

The tomb was silent. For sixty million years, it had not been disturbed. Battles had been won and lost above its endless crypt, wars had raged for what had seemed like an eternity, and yet the residents of the catacombs had not been disturbed.

That all changed when a soft, green glow emanated from a tube embedded deep within the tomb. A metallic hand pressed against the gas-filled tube, and slowly, the containment opened. As the mist flowed out of it, a metal figure stepped out. His body took the form of a long-dead skeleton, with glowing green eyes and long flowing robes.

The creature made a sound that one could have mistaken for breathing, had the creature still had lungs to circulate air. The creature's eyes panned over the room it was in, eyeing the machines, gadgets, and miscellaneous objects littered around.

" _What happened…"_ a voice spoke. It took a moment until the creature realized that it had been the one to speak.

" _My voice… how long…"_ it shook its head, not bothering with its questions at the moment.

The creature examined the room it was in, before leaving to examine the rest of the tomb. It spent hours walking through the empty, silent halls. It found more tubes, filled with creatures just like it.

" _What has happened, why did we not awake sooner? What has happened to our bodies?"_ It asked itself, knowing it would not receive an answer.

It finally stumbled upon a room filled with terminals, each one filled with data. The creature spent hours combing through anything it could find, learning what had happened to it and its people. It found documents, detailing the rise and fall of the C'tan, the Necrontyr, and the War in Heaven.

" _My people… what drove you to such desperation? What caused you to fall into such a state? To blindly follow such creatures of obvious malice? To have your very souls stripped of you?"_ It asked.

It pondered these questions before it came to a strange realization. What was its name? Who was it? It knew that it was once Necrontyr, but with what it's people had done, could it truly be considered as such?

" _My name. I… do not remember it. Who am I? Who was I?"_

It kept looking through the files, finding names and titles. Nothing looked familiar. It let out the equivalent to a sigh, before looking back to the terminal. She soon noticed one name and the end of the list, and It hit her like a bolt-round.

She was Nevha Cleo, High Lady of the _Necrons_. She was not sure what to think of her revelation, as she still wasn't sure who exactly she was. Yes, she now knew her name and title, but what did any of that mean now? What did it mean before she was locked in her tomb?

She would have to do more research. She needed to know.


	11. Chapter 11

**986.M41: The Emperor's Boot**

The first thing Jarod noticed was the distinct air of apprehension from everyone he passed. People tensed up whenever he walked past, turned a corner to avoid him, or just outright turned around and ran off. Had they been Eldar this wouldn't have been strange, but the crew of the Emperor's Boot? He'd spent months with them!

Finally, he ran into Matthias, "Oh thank goodness, Matthias, do you know why everyone's acting so strangely around me?" He asked.

Matthias looked up from his data-slate and sighed, "I assume you haven't heard the news then?" He asked.

"What news?" Jarod asked worriedly.

"I am afraid that Captain Robert has succumbed to his sickness. He has days at most to live if that." He explained somberly, "I will admit I am surprised that you were not aware, you are his Heir after all."

Jarod blinked. His suspicions were right it seemed, and he wasn't sure that was a good thing, "I assume he's in the medical ward?" He asked with a grimace.

Matthias nodded, with Jarod heading off. The way toward the medical ward was eerily quiet until he entered the room. It was still quiet, but the steady beep of medical equipment and the chatter of nurses traveled through the air.

His eyes instantly locked onto the sleeping form of the Rogue Trader, hooked up to a bunch of medical devices that were presumably keeping him alive.

He walked over to the nurse standing by his bed and asked, "How long has he been like this?"

"Almost a week now. The experts said he had years, but going on what our scans have told us, he has days at most. It's a miracle he's lasted this long." She explained.

Jarod nodded. Thinking on what Elirom had been training him to do - and keeping in mind exactly what he had told him NOT to do, - he reached out with his mind to look into Roberts. At first, nothing happened. He felt the calm of a sleeping man's mind before he soon found himself drawn into the Rogue Traders mind.

He opened his eyes, and the first thing he saw was an explosion

"OH F-" His voice was cut off by the sound of an artillery shell going off in front of him. He was surprised when the fire, shrapnel, and dirt simply passed through him.

Jarod blinked, before looking around at the battlefield around him. Remembering that he was using his psychic ability to see into Robert's mind, he figured it was just what he was dreaming about. Not exactly comforting.

Walking around for a bit, he realized what exactly was going on. An Imperial Guard regiment was retreating, under attack by Necrons. He figured it was probably a part of Roberts past, and after spotting said Rogue Trader, his suspicions were confirmed. The man was a lot younger, Jarod noticed and didn't even have grey hair yet.

Robert looked around, ordering his men around and shouting until he and Jarod locked eyes. Robert blinked, and the world around them froze. He quickly aged up, his body and face going back to the older, obviously weaker form he was in the present.

"I suppose I'm in the medical ward then… heh, I guess that means you know my 'secret' as well." He commented, slowly walking towards Jarod.

"It seems so." Jarod shot back. Looking around at the battlefield, he asked: "So when did this happen?"

Robert sighed, "Years ago. I was younger, brash, I didn't _really_ know what I was doing. We didn't know what the Necrons at that point, not that we really needed to. As you can see, we were woefully unprepared. They slaughtered us in droves, killed hundreds of my men, and I doubt they even lost _one_ of their own," He explained, "I haven't fought them since, and I'm glad for that."

Jarod nodded, "Makes sense. The things are deadly, being able to regenerate and all. On another note, why didn't you tell me you were sick?" he asked.

"I will be frank with you Jarod, I thought I had another decade at least. I had hoped to train you during that time, show you what I could, and point you in the right direction. Then, when I felt the time would be right, I would tell you." He explained, "Though it seems our timetable has been driven forward."

"Why me?"

Robert looked up to Jarod, eyebrow raised in an inquisitive look, "What do you mean?"

"You chose me to be your heir, out of all the people you know, you chose someone who had only known you for a month at best. So, why me?" Jarod asked.

Robert chuckled, but that chuckle soon turned into full-blown laughter, "Because you can _think!_ " He said with a massive grin, "Because you look at the world around you not in the way it is, but as you wish it to be. You deny your enemies any form of logical response, you make use of the unorthodox and the unusual. You and Michael are some of the most unique people I have ever met, and I do not in the slightest regret taking you as part of my crew!"

"I will say that I had a difficult time choosing between yourself and Michael, but seeing as you have more strategic experience, it was clear that you were the… not better choice, but more applicable one." He explained.

"I suppose that makes sense. Thanks, by the way." Jarod noted.

Robert grinned, "Your welcome. I only regret that I will not live to see you truly live up to your potential."

Jarod smiled sadly, "Well, at least you gave me the chance. That's more than I could say for the majority of the Imperium."

[-]

 **986.M41: Orbit of Cellos VI**

"General!" The trooper saluted General Gaz, standing at attention.

"Trooper, report. What does the surface look like?"

"Three tomb entrances, sir. The locals report noises and glowing lights coming from them, though none of the Xenos have attempted an attack."

The General nodded and dismissed the trooper, turning his attention to his dataslate. He frowned as he remembered the briefing the main commanders had been given before. Twelve full regiments had been sent to the planet of Cellos VI to deal with reports of Necron activity. At first, he had simply groaned at the prospect of fighting the accursed Xenos, but any complaints he had were silenced before he had spoken them when the Inquisitor arrived.

Inquisitor Karev of the Ordo Xenos, the one responsible for bringing more attention to the Necrons on the planet.

The Inquisitor had said that they had been given reliable information about their enemies, including numbers, their strength of arms, and terrain, but Gaz didn't put much trust in the man's word. He knew that there were Necrons on the planet, but he did his best to prepare for the worst.

The plan was relatively simple: Three regiments would assault each tomb entrance, with the remaining three acting as reserve and reinforcements. They expected resistance, and with the Inquisitor's information, they trusted that they would be able to deal with it.

Once an entrance was taken, they would move in and destroy the internal structure, collapsing the tomb in on itself. The campaign was expected to take a total of three months at the longest, and only a month if everything went well. Personally, Gaz expected it to take four or five, if they were lucky.

They had arrived in-system a week prior, and each regiment had sent out their own scouts, with each reporting back the same information. Three entrances with a bunch of activity, none of which was visible.

Their troops would land on the surface tomorrow, and the campaign would begin the day after that. If all went well, they would be home before the end of the year.

[-]

"Everyone hold!" Someone yelled as an explosion rocked the earth beneath them. The guardsmen crawled forwards, trying their best to avoid the bombardment the Necrons had been sending their way.

Green beams of energy lanced overhead, vaporizing anyone that made themselves visible. They were lucky that the Xenos had taken up a primarily defensive position, only attacking when provoked or when a clear weakness was shown. Still, the grueling assault moved forward, inch by bloody inch.

Their initial assault on the tombs was unusually successful, with the teams sent in meeting little or no resistance. Everything went sideways when one idiot decided to press a button, waking every single Necron on the planet. It turned out that there were actually a _lot_ more Necrons on the planet than the Inquisitor thought, including another two entrances to tombs.

The only reason they knew about the other two entrances was due to the fact that the reserved forces had apparently been sitting on one that had been covered up by a mudslide. When the Necrons woke up, they destroyed nearly half of the reserve forces and put the rest of them on the back foot.

Needless to say, nothing was going to plan.

"General! The left flank is requesting to move forward!" The vox caster reported.

Gaz cursed under his breath, "Tell them to hold their position. They won't stand a chance without reinforcements!" He ordered.

The Guard was hard-pressed to move forward, the Inquisitor still insisting that they could somehow salvage the mission. Gaz knew as well as everyone else that was a load of grox sh-

An explosion sent the men a few meters away flying into the air, none of them in one piece. Several guardsmen sent a few lasbolts in the direction of the offending artillery, only to be cut down by the Necron weaponry.

"Keep your heads down! You're no good to the Emperor dead!" Gaz shouted, trying to keep as many of his men alive as possible.

If he were to guess, his regiment wouldn't survive this campaign. Too many men were dying already, and the casualties weren't slowing down.

Gaz turned to the vox caster, "Get the Inquisitor on the vox! Tell him we're falling back!" He ordered.

The vox caster nodded, bringing the vox to his ear. In the meantime, Gaz started shouting to fall back. No retreat, such a thing was unacceptable, but they would fall back to a more defensive position. Maybe they could set up some artillery, deal with the Necron defenses that way.

The men started crawling backward, with the artillery slowing down and fewer men losing any limbs. Gaz dropped down into a trench, leaning against the wooden wall. He sighed, taking out a lho stick and lighting it, just to calm his nerves. Letting out a breath of smoke, he watched as more of his men dropped into the trench, dodging enemy fire as much as they could.

One man tried to jump into the trench, but one of the Necrons atomized his head, the rest of the body falling into the trench. A couple of men came over and looted the power packs from the corpse, before chucking the body up and over the edge of the trench. Wasn't like the poor guy would be using them anymore.

Gaz moved over to the vox caster, who was still chattering on the vox, "Gotten hold of the Inquisitor yet?" He asked.

The trooper held up a hand, silently telling the General to wait a moment. He said a few more words to the person on the other end of the vox, before turning to the General.

"The Inquisitor wants us to keep moving forward, he says if we keep doing so we'll be done by the end of the month." The man said, "Permission to speak freely sir?"

Gaz nodded, "Go ahead trooper."

"That Inquisitors full of grox manure."

Gaz chuckled, "That he is. Just don't say it straight to his face." he frowned, "Tell the rest of the regiment to hold where they are, we'll figure out what to do tomorrow."

[-]

The Farseer watched the battle emotionlessly. She was glad that her people did not have to deal with the Necrons directly, though she did wish that the Inquisitor was a bit less brutish. Getting him to deal with their ancient enemy was not difficult, but getting him to do it intelligently was another matter.

She would move forward with the rest of her plan soon, but first, she had to contact one of her kin, one from her craftworld. There were only so many Farseers per craftworld, and it was rare that they cooperate on something as minor as getting the Mon'keigh to deal with the Necrons, but she felt as though her mentor would be able to give her some advice on interpreting her visions more accurately.

She had seen the Mon'keigh fighting the Necrons, and she had seen her people getting heavily involved, but she still was not sure why the Mon'keigh had been as prevalent in the visions as they had been.

Regardless, she opened up communication between herself and Elirom. Perhaps he would know, he was older than her after all.

Fortunately, it seemed that he was unoccupied.

" _Ah! Tasiel, it is good to speak with you again."_ Elirom noted.

"Likewise, Elirom. Though I regret to say that I do not call to simply talk."

Elirom sighed, _"Such is the way of things I suppose. Where are you? What have you found?"_

"I am on the Mon'keigh planet Cellos VI, where an Inquisitor has decided to take care of the Necrons in our stead," she explained.

" _And how did he come to that conclusion? Prodding from an unseen shadow perhaps? Or was it a more direct approach?"_

"The man was more than easy to manipulate. His kind always are…" She trailed off.

" _And yet you are contacting me of all people. What has gone wrong?"_

Tasiel sighed, "My visions were incorrect, the Necrons had a far stronger presence than I had foreseen, and because of that, the Mon'keigh will not be able to prevent our ancient enemy from making there move on us. It is strange though, as my vision predicted there would be at least one more ship… and several thousand more soldiers."

Elirom went quiet for a few moments before speaking, _"... Would more Humans mean more chance of success or failure?"_

"Success of course! They are the ones to drive the Necrons back. Without them, we would have to deal with them ourselves." She said indignantly.

" _Tasiel… no, nevermind. I believe I know what your vision meant, so please stay where you are. Make sure that the Humans do not break themselves against the Necrons, I will be coming to the planet myself."_

Tasiel blinked in surprise, "What? Why would you come here? What purpose would it serve?" She asked.

Elirom smiled, _"I do believe I know the ship you saw in your vision."_

[-]

Michael sighed as he sat down next to the very clearly drunk Jarod. The interdimensional traveler poured another shot of liquor, before downing it in one go.

"You really shouldn't be drinking this much," Michael commented.

"An' the bast'rd went 'n died on me. Made me cap'n of tha' ship, too." Jarod slurred, "What'm I 'uspossed ta' do now?"

"I don't know. I mean, yeah, you've got what amounts to unlimited power outside the Imperium, good relations to the Eldar, and who knows what kinds of psychic ability. Realistically, I'm not the best person to ask."

Jarod sighed, downing another shot. The two sat in silence, before Jarod's communicator pinged, receiving a message. Looking at it, he was getting a call from Elirom.

"Wha'do you want?" Jarod asked, answering the call.

" _Jarod, I wanted to ask if you could do me a favor,"_ Elirom asked.

Jarod took a moment to think before answering, "What kin'a favor?"

" _I…"_ Elirom paused, _"are you drunk?"_

"Wha'do you think?"

Eilrom sighed, _"Is Michael nearby?"_ He asked.

Jarod handed the device to Michael, "Elirom I presume?"

" _Indeed. I assume Jarod's state of intoxication is due to the passing of his predecessor?"_

"Yeah. The guy left him everything. The ship, the weapons, the army, even his personal power sword. Jarod's probably one of the richest people in the Imperium now." He explained.

Elirom hummed, _"I see. Well, this may make my request slightly easier. I have received a request for aid from one of the other Farseers, and my former student. Imperial forces are engaged with the Necrons, and it is likely that they will lose without your aid."_ He explained.

Michael sighed, relaying the message to Jarod, "TL;DR, Necrons are attacking some Imperials, they need help."

Jarod sighed, downing one last shot, "Lesh goo." He said. He got up, took one step forward, and fell flat on his face.

Michael sighed, "It's going to be a long trip."

[-]

Kiara sighed as she looked out the window in her room. The Exarch had told her that the Mon'keigh could not be trusted, that his people were evil. Yet the one she talked to did not sound evil, in fact, he sounded rather nice. He openly admitted that many of his cousins were evil and that he did his best to stop them. She wondered why he did that.

The Exarch had said that all of them were evil and self-destructive, but if that were the case, then why did the Mon'keigh want to stop people being evil? Why wasn't he evil? She mulled over the questions, unable to find an answer.

Getting up from her bed, she wandered over to the balcony to look up at the stars. She always did that when she couldn't find an answer to a question, be it one that her teachers gave her or that she asked herself. Looking up, she saw all the light's that made up the universe. Intellectually she was well aware that most of them were galaxies rather than individual stars, but she didn't really care.

It was beautiful, and no matter what happened, those stars would always be there, never changing. The denizens of the warp could run around, tearing apart worlds, devouring souls, or corrupting minds all they liked, but they would never be able to truly snuff out the stars. The ravenous Orks could fight and kill all they wanted, but even they could not destroy the stars in their entirety. Even Humanity and its failing Imperium would never be able to end the stars.

She smiled at the thought. She wondered what it would be like, to travel amongst the stars. Yes, she lived on a planet-sized ship, yes she saw different parts of the galaxy every day, but she never saw what it was like to really to live amongst the stars.

She wondered what it was like for the Mon'keigh. She never struggled for anything, she was waited upon hand and foot, given whatever she wanted whenever she wanted. She realized that was probably due to the fact that her people struggled to have children, but she still wondered what it was like for those who didn't have her luxuries.

She saw the Mon'keigh soldiers when they first came aboard the craftworld to help defend them from the servants of She-who-thirsts, and she saw the sorry state they were in. They were tired, old, and battle-hardened. They fought for their Imperium, for their own desperate survival. They did not fight for pride or aesthetic, but because they had no other choice. If they did not fight, then they would die.

Her people, the Aeldari, could simply hide within the webway, or retreat to one of the maiden worlds like their Exodite cousins. They could wait out the misery of the galaxy, to some extent. The Mon'keigh? They had no such luxury.

So she looked up to the stars and wondered why her people considered themselves better than the humans. The humans fought tooth and nail to get what they wanted, to survive, whilst her people spent their time coming up with plots to further their own gain, while still falling into the misery that was the 41st millennium.

[-]

"All systems ready captain!" The crewman called out, "Navigator is ready, the Astronomican still shines, and we are ready to go."

"Inform the crew and let's get going." Jarod ordered, sitting in the captain's throne.

The bridge of the _Emperor's Boot_ was a fairly simple thing as ships went, very little decoration and only the necessary components for the crew to run the ship. Navigation and sensory equipment and such.

The warp drive came online, the Gellar field following close behind. A great portal opened, the ship entering into the warp. On the outside, it looked as if the ship had entered the maw of a great beast. On the inside of the ship, the only people who noticed they had left realspace were the psykers.

Jarod shuddered as he felt his mind dive into the warp, putting up his mental defenses just in case. Alaric did much the same. Elirom, along with his entourage, prayed that Isha would keep their souls from she-who-thirsts.

"We have successfully entered the warp, ETA to Cellos VI is sixteen days." The crewman announced.

Jarod got up from the throne and headed into Robert- his, personal quarters. The quarters felt more like an apartment rather than a normal crewman's room. There was a kitchen, bedroom, living room, and even a study.

Walking into the study, Jarod looked around at all the objects that his predecessor had collected over the decades. An Ork skull sat on a shelf, books lined the back wall, and a sword - likely of the power variety - sat in the corner.

He sat down at the desk, running his hands along the solid wood furniture. There was no telling how much history the room had, or how many items of heretical origin were in it.

Jarod's thoughts were interrupted when a powerful knock sounded on his door.

"Come in…?"

The door opened at Alaric stepped into the room, his helmet at his side. It seemed Robert had the foresight to make the entire apartment big enough to house a space marine, as even in armor, Alaric was able to stand comfortably.

"Lord Jarod." He said, his voice booming with an unusual sense of authority.

Jarod sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Please don't call me that. It's bad enough that I have a hangover, I do not need to be treated like nobility right now."

Alaric chuckled, "It seems as though you are… adjusting, to your new position."

Jarod grunted, leaning back in the chair. He pulled out his flask, drinking from it. The golden liquid that normally filled the container had been replaced by lukewarm water, causing Jarod's headache to subside slightly.

"Being honest? I thought I would have been killed by Orks or Tyranids by now. The fact that I'm possession of this much power is a little disturbing," He explained, "and I'll eat my boots if Tzeentch doesn't have something to do with this."

"The changer of ways does seem to have his hand in a number of the Imperium's government's. It would not be a stretch to say that he has orchestrated your rise to power from the day Robert became a Rogue Trader." Alaric pointed out.

Jarod laughed, "I can't believe I'm even having this conversation. If an inquisitor heard us they'd probably order the entire ship blown to bits. A rogue trader talking to a space marine about Tzeentchian plots. It really must be the end times…"

Alaric cracked a smile, "Well, at least we can say we do not serve the ruinous powers. Though I would not doubt that Chaos is actively working to corrupt us."

"Yeah, good luck with that. Nurgle's a freaking garbage bag, Khorne's a disabled sociopath, Tzeentch is an Indecisive mollusk, and Slaanesh _really_ needs to go to rehab." He said mirthlessly.

Alaric frowned, "I have heard you describe the dark gods as such before, is there a particular reason you do so?" he asked.

Jarod smiled, then chuckled, then outright laughed, "Oh if only you knew… I'll be honest, I know a lot more than any meager civilian should ever know about the 41st Millennium. Whether it be chaos, the Inquisition, the Eldar, or who knows what else. You didn't think it was weird when I knew what you were talking about when you were teaching me how to use my powers and how to avoid Chaos?" he asked.

"I did find it strange, though I assumed you had simply dealt with the forces of chaos before, as you seemed no stranger to it when two Khornate space marines boarded your ship." Alaric noted.

Jarod gave the space marine a nod, "True. Before you attacked the crew - no hard feelings by the way - we had dealt with a Nurglite invasion on another planet, which was where Robert picked up me, Michael, and a lot of other guardsmen. And during your attack, I was actually facing off against Tzeentch himself in a children's card game." He explained.

"You conversed with Tzeentch himself?"

"Either him or a proxy. Could have been Magnus the red for all I know, or maybe Kairos, but given that he acted just like he did the last time I saw him… well, he isn't even consistently inconsistent."

"You say you have had contact with him before?"

Jarod sighed, taking another drink of water from his flask, "Would you believe me if I said I was from the 3rd Millenium?"

Alaric huffed, "I would think that the alcohol in your system might not be gone yet."

"Yeah well, I figured as much. Long story short, I'm either crazy, the best liar in the galaxy, or I'm telling the truth. Take your pick."

Alaric hummed, mulling over the information the Rogue Trader had given him. It would be incredibly improbable for such a thing to happen, if not completely impossible. Still, considering the attention Jarod had gained from Tzeentch, the likelihood of his claim seemed less improbable.


	12. Chapter 12

**986.M41: Callous V**

 **Imperial battle line**

The explosions rocked the Imperials, sending men flying. The commissar ignored the screams, ordering the men forward to die for the Emperor. Las-fire flew from the Imperials, their shots doing nothing against the regenerative necrodermis that made up the Necron's bodies.

While the guardsmen charged forward, the commanders argued over what they were going to do.

"We aren't gaining any ground. We've been here over a month and we haven't gained a _sodding_ inch!" One of the Colonels ranted, "We need armor! Heavy armor! All we've got are infantry and artillery, how are we supposed to take a Necron tomb world with that!?"

General Gaz sighed. The Colonel was right, he knew that much, but what was he supposed to do? The Administratum was denying them any reinforcements, and the locals barely had anything better than bows and arrows.

They were in a tight spot, and it showed.

"We have to keep trying. The Necrons are refusing to come out, and are on the defensive. We have that on our side at least." He noted.

They continued arguing, trying to figure out what to do. Above them, a ship exited the warp a few hundred thousand kilometers away from the planet. The ships already in orbit did a spit take, before trying to hail the ships communications system.

"Attention unknown vessel, please identify, you are entering restricted space-"

" _Hello? Is this thing on?"_ a voice said over the comm.

Two of the crewmen looked at each other, not really sure what to make sure of the situation, "I repeat, Please Identify, you are entering restricted space under the jurisdiction of the Astra Militarum, The Emperor's holy Inquisition, and Adeptus Administratum."

" _Wait, Administratum?... no, nevermind. This is Captain Jarod Carolinus of the_ Emperor's boot _, we were made aware of the situation on Callous V and are here to offer aid."_ Jarod explained.

The crewman pressed a few buttons, checked a few logs, and did some searching, "Umm… I'm afraid your ship isn't coming up in any records, please respond." 

The line was static for a moment before Jarod spoke again, _"Should I have mentioned I'm a Rogue Trader? Heir to the late Robert Carolinus?"_ he answered.

The crewman did another search and paled when he found the only file matching those variables, "Please confirm, the Rogue Trader by the name Robert Carolinus is dead and you were his heir?"

" _That is correct."_

"Please standby…" He said, before muting his mic and turning to the Inquisitor sitting in the captain's chair, "Inquisitor? We've gotten confirmation from the ship."

The Inquisitor jerked his head toward the crewman, "Well? Who are they?" he asked.

The crewman gulped, "They claim to be here to aid the troops on the planet's surface. The ship is captained by the Rogue Trader Jarod Carolinus, heir to the late Robert Carolinus."

The Inquisitor stared at the crewman for what was far longer than was healthy, "A Rogue Trader?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Out here of all places?"

"Yes, sir… with respect, sir, what should I tell them?"

The Inquisitor mulled the situation over before answering. Reinforcements were needed after all, "Tell him to meet me on in the ships docking bay."

[-]

Inquisitor Karev stood in the docking bay, awaiting the arrival of the Rogue Trader. If his tale was to be believed, he was likely very young and it was possible that he could manipulate him into assisting the Imperial Guard on the planet below. Admittedly there had been more Necrons on the planet's surface then they expected, so the help would be appreciated.

The transport flew into the bay, landing with all the grace that an Imperial ship could before the doors opened. The first thing the Inquisitor took notice of, were the two massive Space Marines standing at either side of the Rogue Trader. He kept his surprise hidden, but it did truly shock him that the man had somehow gotten two of the Emperor's angles to stand at his side.

The one on the Rogue Traders right was clad in black and blue power armor, with a star on his right pauldron and a power sword at his waist. An ex-deathwatch operative, if the Inquisitor were to guess. The one on his left had no identifiable markings save for a grey skull painted on his pauldron, in stark contrast to the black color of his armor. He carrier a bolter and a bolt pistol at his side. A Blackshield if ever he had seen one. Doubtless, the Ordo Hereticus would love to get their hands on him, but Karev couldn't really care less.

There were a few others in the retinue - Guardsmen, considering their attire, - but he paid them little mind.

"Inquisitor." The man - boy more like, now that he looked at him - greeted.

"Jarod Carolinus, Rogue Trader. It is good to meet another servant of the Emperor." He said with a warm smile. Well, as warm a smile that an Inquisitor could give anyway.

Karev eyed him up and down, getting a feel for him. He could not have been more than twenty-five year's old. He dressed in a brown long-coat, with a power sword at his hip and a las-pistol on his thigh. His hair was cropped short and he wore a pair of glasses. It actually surprised him slightly when Karev realized how short the man was, as the Inquisitor was a full head taller than him.

Jarod seemed to be doing the same to the Inquisitor as, as he looked him over.

"Ordo Xenos, Correct?" He asked.

Karev raised an eyebrow, "You are correct. How did you know?"

Jarod chuckled, "The poorly disguised Shuriken pistol might have given it away. Might want to have that looked at."

The Inquisitor quietly slipped said weapon deeper into his coat, thanking the Emperor on the golden throne that the Space Marines did not seem to have any issue with him owning such a device. He could have sworn he'd hid it better…

"Regardless of my contraband, I would ask how you managed to get the Adeptus Astartes to follow you. I cannot imagine that would be an easy feat." He said, rapidly changing the subject.

"Easier than you might think," Jarod said with a shrug, "In any case, let's skip the pleasantries and get down to business. The people down on the surface are currently fighting Necrons, correct?"

The Inquisitor nodded.

"Well, we are here to assist the Guard forces currently engaged on the planet's surface. All we ask is to be able to recruit from the existing regiments to refill our own once the battle has been concluded, and that you do not interfere with our methods of attack." Jarod explained.

"I would assume that you have your own methods of assault that differ from standard doctrine," Karev remarked.

Jarod nodded, "That is correct. If I can ask, what are the current logistics of the campaign so far?" He asked.

The Inquisitor welcomed the Rogue Trader and his space marine escorts into the war room in order to discuss the state of the campaign. The full campaign started with success but quickly turned afoul once the Necron's had fully awakened. The five tomb entrances had been surrounded and were under continuous assault, but little or no progress had been made due to the hardy nature of the Necron's and their technology. After much revision and strategic discussion, the forces on the ground decided that the tomb entrance on the northern continent was the only one that could be taken with any form of success.

The Necrons themselves had been completely on the defensive, never wandering more than a hundred meters from the tomb entrances. Several Necron units had been spotted, Warriors and Immortals, and a few Lychguards. The Necrons had constructed a wall surrounding the entrance as well, lining it with Gauss Pylons and other defenses to keep the Imperials out.

"What would it take to target the Gauss Pylons with as much firepower as possible?" Jarod asked.

"That would be a difficult task, considering they are raised up on the walls. Air support would not be able to take them out, artillery is struggling as is, and if we just charged them we would be out of troops before the first man reached them." Karev explained.

Jarod hummed, "I wonder… you wouldn't happen to have access to grav-chutes would you?" He asked.

The Inquisitor blinked, "I have access to them yes, why do you ask?"

Jarod smiled, "I think I might have an idea."

[-]

"You know, when you came up with this idea when we were dealing with Orks, I supported the idea. But this? This is suicide." Richard said simply.

Michael scoffed, "Oh please, we've done worse."

Richard sent the man a glare, "No, we really haven't. Unless you count allying ourselves with the frakking Eldar, which by the way, still isn't very sane."

"Well at least this time we have grave chutes, so they won't even see us coming."

Richard rolled his eyes. He checked his lasgun for what felt like the thousandth time, adjusting his rebreather for the hundredth, and straps on his grav chute for the millionth. They were expected to drop onto the Necron artillery almost from orbit, well out of the range of aforementioned artillery so that the dropships could fly overhead.

There were a total of five hundred drop troops, all of which would land near or on top of the artillery and destroy it with the det-packs each of them was equipped with. Michael was in command of the mission, having led a similar operation against the Orks.

"Alright," Michael said over the vox, "We're nearing the drop point. Everyone be ready."

The light at the door of the dropship lit up red, opening and letting the cold dry air of the planet to fly into the ship. The smell of ionized air flowed into the ship, the weapons of their enemies having devastated their allies beforehand. Then the light changed to green.

"GO GO GO!" Michael shouted. The troops ran forward, jumping out of the ships and falling towards their targets. The green beams of light that came from the Necrons weapons were visible even from several hundred meters up, and if one looked closely they could see the Imperial artillery firing on their landing zone.

Four hundred meters.

Three hundred meters.

One hundred meters.

Fifty meters and everyone activated their grave-chutes, slowing their descent as they opened fire onto the Necrons.

The high-powered Las-bolts of their modified lasguns punched into the necrodermis skin of the Necron warriors, shredding the internal components and disarming several of them. Less than ten meters away was the Necron artillery, firing onto the Imperial infantry waiting to make their charge.

The jump-troops ran forward, racing towards their target. Several of them were killed before they landed, shredded by the Atomizing weapons wielded by their enemies. Some of them misjudged the distance, activating their grav-chutes to late and slamming into the ground, becoming fleshy piles of meat.

Michael rolled behind cover, narrowly avoiding a beam of green energy. He shot off a few Las-bolts, before running out of cover again. This was the pattern repeated by the many guardsmen that had landed and were making their way toward the artillery.

Finally, they reached the artillery battery.

"Squads two, three and seven prepare the charges! Everyone else, give them cover fire!" Michael shouted over the sounds of lasfire, explosives, and the screams of dying men.

Michael peaked out of cover just in time to see one of the Necrons go down, several guardsmen focusing fire on it. What Michael hadn't realized until now, however, was that the ones farther behind were starting to get back up. The melted, misshapen holes formed in the armor of the Necrons started to slowly close, missing limbs started reattaching themselves, and scorched burns crumbled away to reveal shining chrome.

"They're getting back up! Tell me you're almost done with those charges!" Michael shouted behind him.

One of the soldiers who had been with those planting the explosives rushed forward to Michael's side, diving into cover to avoid getting atomized.

"Sir! We already set off one of the det-packs and it barely scratched it! What's that thing made out of!?" the soldier reported.

Michael glanced back at the towering piece of alien technology and watched as it sent another blast of energy soaring towards their allies, killing who knows how many men. He cursed as he saw another one of his men go down.

"Keep trying!" He ordered, "That thing has a weakness, everything does. You just have to find it."

The man nodded before they both heard the clank of metal above them. Michael looked up just in time to see a Necron warrior climbing over his cover, driving a blade of energy down towards him. Michael dodged, just barely, and the sword went straight through the ground beneath where he had been sitting. Michael lifted his lasgun, emptying the power cell into the Necrons' chest.

The Necron fell forward, collapsing in on itself due to the massive hole in its chest. Michael to the opportunity to race further back toward the artillery battery in hopes of fixing the mess they had gotten themselves into.

He soon found himself at the back of the line - not that he had run very far, a dozen meters at most - and backing himself against another piece of cover. He spotted another of his men trying to pry what looked like a loose piece of metal from the weapon, perhaps hoping to blow it up from the inside out. Taking a deep breath, Michael leaped out of cover, rushing towards the man's position.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked as he found a piece of waist-high metal to stand behind.

"Sir! We found a hatch and I'm trying to get it open, but it won't budge!"

Michael cursed for the thousandth time that day, breaking his cover to help the man. With his mechanical arm, he soon found purchase, then he pulled. Contrary to what many would believe, an arm designed by the Adeptus Mechanicus is a fairly powerful thing, and even a low-quality one has the strength to bend steel.

Michael's was no exception, as it had been designed by a former Magos. The metal of the hatch groaned at the force being put upon it as Micheal pulled with all his strength. After less than a few seconds, the hatch gave, and the metal ripped open to reveal the contents therein. Wires, panels, and glowing rods made up the alien design, none of it meaning anything to him. He simply reached over to the soldier, grabbed the det-pack, primed it, then threw it into the machine and slammed the hatch shut.

"TAKE COVER!" Michael yelled as he threw himself to the ground.

[-]

The first sign of success was when the enemy artillery exploded in a shower of green flame. The commissars gave the word to charge, and so the men charged. The earthshaker platforms fired, hammering into the Necron defenses. It was the first time they had gained any sort of ground in weeks.

"They did it!" Gaz said to himself as he stared at the battlefield before him in disbelief. Behind him, the Rogue Trader chuckled.

"Of course they did it. They had a superior strategy to basic trench warfare after all." He said simply.

The General turned to stare at the man, his jaw slack. The young Rogue Trader was just smiling, his coat flapping in the wind as he looked out onto the charging hoards of men.

"We've been trying to do that for weeks! And you did in a single day, no, not even that, a few hours!" Gaz stated, trying to figure out why they were only now having a victory.

"It's simple General. The Inquisitor was trying his best go _through_ the enemies walls. He never stopped to think what would happen if he tried to go _over_ them." Jarod explained.

Minutes later, the Imperial Guard held a large portion of the wall and were slowly but gradually conquering more of it. The men from the assault on the battery were transported to the back lines as soon as they were reached, with Gaz and Jarod going to meet them. Of the five-hundred men issued on the drop, only just over a hundred returned.

Jarod soon picked Michael out of the survivors, though his partner in crime did not come back unscathed.

"Second degree burns all over your back, both legs are broken, and a crushed right hand. On top of that, your blood sugar seems to be running low." Jarod listed off a list a nurse had given him.

Michael groaned as he lay face down in a medical bed, his back covered in bandages and burn medication. His legs were both in casts, and his hand was in a similar state. Though at least his cybernetic seemed to be functioning just fine considering the fact he was currently flipping off his superior.

"You know, if I didn't know any better I'd say you were a _bit_ to close to that explosion," Jarod said in a condescending tone.

Michael just groaned again.

Jarod chuckled, "Well at least you're alive. That's more than I can say for the commissar who tried to order my men to the front line."

Michael groaned questioningly.

"No, I didn't kill him. I just sent him to the front line while the rest of your guys got sent back up to the ship."

Another groan.

"Yes, he's dead. I checked the casualty report myself." 

More groaning.

"No, I didn't try to steal his hat. Robert had one in his treasure room on the ship anyway, all I needed was his coat."

One more groan.

Jarod sighed, "Yeah, you and me both."

Jarod eventually left Michael to his recovery, deciding to go watch over the rest of the campaign. With the destruction of the outer wall, they were able to get a more in-depth look at the tombs below. What they found wasn't pretty. It turned out that the entire planet was almost one giant tomb, not all too surprising when compared to other tomb worlds, but it was far more than the Imperial Guard were prepared to deal with on their own.

Jarod grimaced as he checked the casualty reports of the other tomb entrances. Over a hundred thousand dead in just one assault. Not a lot on a grand scale all things considered, but when they only had access to a few million troops, and not much armor to begin with, it started looking rather bleak.

With little else to do, Jarod tried to plan for the future. Or maybe even see it, if Elirom's training had done him any good.

[-]

 **A/N: Well, sorry for the wait. Long story short my life has been a bit nutso the past week. But, here I am! Still alive!**


	13. Chapter 13

**986.M41 . ?token= 5m9cQ**

Things were bad. Very bad. It had started with the first major assault onto the tomb, which had failed miserably. Jarod still couldn't read the future, and as such, he was left with his wit and raw skill. As a result, they were making no progress. The Necrons were too numerous to deal with, and their regenerative capabilities meant that while the numbers of the Imperial Guard always went down, the number of Necrons almost never changed.

It was this reason why Jarod, the Inquisitor, and General Gaz all stood around a holotable in the command tent.

"We have two options…" Jarod started, "We either lead a strike team into the tomb and kill the warlord, or we get the help of the closest Adeptus Astartes. I think all of us knows which is more likely to happen."

"I happen to know a few space marines not far from here, a few systems away in fact," the Inquisitor offered, "If we could enlist their help, that would be ideal."

"Ideal, yes, but not likely to happen. Space Marines may be devastating to our enemies and they may be dedicated to the salvation of humanity, but I seriously doubt that they would stop everything just to help out some guardsmen in over their heads." Jarod explained, "Combine that with the fact that your space marines are probably on a mission of their own, I don't see us getting any support from them for at least a month, if ever."

The Inquisitor grumbled but didn't argue. Early in their discussions, he had learned how stubborn and unyielding Jarod could be, and that he rarely took any of the Inquisitors threats seriously. The fact that two of the Emperor's angels of death had his back didn't help much either.

"Well, then how are we supposed to get a strike team down into the tomb? We don't exactly have a map of the place and even if we did, I don't think it would point us to where the warlord is." The Inquisitor asked in an irate tone.

"I may actually have something on that," General Gaz interjected, "We've been taking sub-surface scans of the tomb entrance and the area surrounding it," He explained, pulling up a 3d image on the holotable, "It's incomplete, but we do have several of the tunnels mapped out, with a few rooms as well."

Jarod laughed, "Well, now we have a way to get this done!" He remarked.

The three commanders went on to discuss the plan of action. Jarod would lead a strike team into the tunnels, using seismic scans taken by the troops above ground, and from what gear he could take with him, to navigate the tunnels. Using some basic stealth techniques, they would sneak into the tomb via a side entrance that was less heavily guarded than the rest of the tomb. The reason the Inquisitor hadn't targeted this entrance for the main assault rather than the rest of the tomb was due to its small size, making the use of large numbers of infantry and armor virtually impossible. A strike team, however, was something that could slip in rather easily.

"Who will you take with you?" Gaz asked.

Jarod hummed, "The space marines most definitely, along with a squadron of my veteran guardsmen and a techpriest, the latter to help us navigate the xeno-tech down there." He explained.

The Inquisitor nodded, "Do you have someone in mind? A techpriest would help yes, but it would be better if they had some experience with Necron technology."

"I will admit I was mostly thinking of just requesting an adept from the head techpriest, but if you have someone that would be better, I'm all ears."

Karev nodded, pulling up a file of the holo-table, "This is Adept 90870, or Alek. He has assisted me when dealing with Necron technology in the past, and has gained a knack for it." he explained.

The picture of the techpriest showed a man made almost completely out of metal. Only his left eye and scalp were visibly still made of flesh, the rest of his face covered in metal, and most of his body covered in a red robe. A servo arm sprung from his back, with a three-pronged steal clamp as the main method of operation.

Jarod nodded, "Alright then, if that's everything, then we'd better get going."

[-]

The team checked their weapons, everything ready to go. The two Astartes stood on the outskirts of the group, not really interacting with the guardsmen. At the head of the group, Jarod stood facing techpriest Alek, who was there to help them on their journey into the depths of the Necron tomb.

"Explanation: It is virtually impossible to know where the Necron warlord will be located, however, we can make an educated guess by how many defenses are set up. That, and they will likely be in the largest section of the tomb." He explained.

Jarod grunted in affirmation, "What kind of defenses should we expect? I don't think they would leave themselves unprotected."

"Speculation: Heavy defensive units, few offensive units. It is good you thought to bring the Astartes."

Jarod chuckled, glancing over to the two space Marines, "That it is."

After a few more minutes of preparation, they went in. The frontline started their assault, drawing the attention of the Necrons away, and giving the strike team a cover of stealth that was desperately needed. Though doubtless hundreds of lives would be lost, it was a small price to pay for the eventual end to the campaign.

The strike team moved silently, running through the dark tunnels only lit by the dull green glow of Necron technology and the flashlights held by the Guardsmen and the techpriest. The Astartes were well enough without the lights, their augmentations, and helmets allowing them to see just fine in the darkness. Jarod simply relied on the light of his comrades and the strength of his own senses.

Every few minutes they would stop to allow Alek to make a scan of the geological terrain, so as to extend the map, allowing for them to move further in. Several times the group had narrowly avoided slow-moving patrols of Necron warriors, their insistence on stealth making it easy to slip be undetected.

While the Guardsmen, the techpriest, and Calivar went on unabated, Alaric and Jarod noticed a gradual change as they went deeper in. Their connection to the Warp was waning. Whatever was down there had some way of dampening the Warp's influence, making it difficult for Alaric to even see through the warp. It was as if one of his senses had been dulled, and he did not like it at all.

"You're feeling it too?" Jarod asked the space marine quietly.

Alaric nodded silently, knowingly.

"I knew the Necrons were capable of dampening the warp, but this… it feels like there's a piece of glass between me and the warp. I can still feel it, and I can still sense it, but it's getting harder to manipulate," He said, raising up his hand and summoning a small ember of warp-fire, "It's not exactly a nice feeling."

Alaric hummed silently to himself, thinking on this, "Theoretical: The Necrons likely have some kind of warp inhibiting technology and wish to limit the Influence of the Immaterium. Practical: We cannot use our powers when fighting the warlord."

Jarod nodded in agreement, "That much is true. Doesn't mean I have to like it."

The group continued on in silence until the footsteps of the space marines suddenly stopped.

"Someone is missing," Calivar said neutrally, causing the guardsmen to do an emergency headcount. The space marine was right, one of them had gone missing, and no one had noticed.

"Everyone stays close together," Jarod ordered warily, "If I were to bet on it, I'd say the warlord knows we're here."

They continued on, working their way towards a large chamber, one with only one entrance and one exit. That was when they noticed another guardsman missing. Then another. The guardsmen started to panic, deciding to wrap their arms around one another in order to avoid meeting the same fate as those around them. That was when they heard the scream.

One of the guardsmen was being dragged _into_ the wall, mechanical tendrils reaching out and wrapping themselves around the Guardsman. The only reason his screams were heard was due to the fact that several other guardsmen were currently struggling to pull him away from the mechanical construct.

Moving quickly, Alaric brought his power-sword to bare, hacking at the tentacles and severing them, allowing the guardsman to be pulled free. The men collapsed onto one another, shoving the heavy metal tendrils off. What came next was even more worrying. The wall opened, and several more tendrils came out of the openings.

"Get to the chamber!" Alek called, his robotic voice unnaturally level considering the situation, but still filled with a tone of artificial urgency.

Calivar started shooting the tendrils with his bolter, blowing them apart with each shot, but for each one destroyed, another three were soon in its place. Alaric started hacking away as he made his way to the chamber ahead, the energy field surrounding his weapon shearing through the xeno-tech tendrils. The guardsmen began running for their lives, shooting the tendrils, their lasguns leaving scorch marks on the silver-grey metal. Jarod worked with his own power sword and laspistol, working to clear a path alongside the space marines.

One by one the Guardsmen were pulled into the walls by the tendrils, not a drop of blood hitting the floors as they were dragged into the wall, the panels closing them inside. They soon reached the door to the chamber, only Jarod, Alek, and the two space marines being the only ones who hadn't been dragged off by the cursed Xenos machines.

When the door opened and they backed inside, however, the tendrils stopped.

It took less than half a second for the Astartes to realize this, and only a second longer for Jarod and Alek. Bewildered, Jarod jumped as he heard the idle 'hmm' of a woman's voice behind him. Turning around, all present pointed their weapons in the direction of the voice, being startled at the sight of a Necron.

Its body was different from the Necron warriors slaughtering the Imperial Guard outside the tomb, that much was obvious, but if it wasn't for the coloration and clearly metal appearance, Jarod might not have realized that the creature standing before him was a Necron at all.

Standing much thinner - all though just as tall as - the Necron warriors, this one wore an ornate grey and yellow coat of Necrodermis, its body was made up of several silver plates of metal, each overlapping and blending into one another. It wore a tall headdress made up of the same coloration as the coat, along with holding a staff with a glowing green rod towards the end, and a pair of blades extending out to the side. Its slim figure and jutted out chest made it very clear that this was a female of the Necrons, something Jarod had _not_ been expecting.

For what felt like several minutes, neither party said anything, fully intent on simply staring each other down. That was until the warlord - warlady? - decided to break said silence.

"You are quite an interesting group," She said in an accented low-gothic as if she knew the language well, but it clearly wasn't her first language, "I suppose that you have come to kill me?" she asked.

The Astartes and Techpriest said nothing, leaving Jarod to do the only sensible thing, "If you would be so kind, could you please release my guardsmen? I'm sure they don't like being kept in the tight spaces between the panels and walls."

Alaric did a double-take, or the Astartes equivalent, and glanced over to Jarod. Hadn't the guardsmen just been killed by the tendrils? Or did the Rogue Trader know something that he did not?

If the Necron could raise an eyebrow, she very well would, "And how did you know they are not already dead?" She asked.

Jarod chuckled, "Well, while whatever warp-dampening device you've got turned on might stop me from altering the material realm in any real way, that doesn't mean I can sense the souls of my men." he said with a grin.

Alaric was taken aback slightly, though he recovered quicker than he would have a year ago before Jarod had shown that he had a habit of doing the impossible. He really shouldn't have been surprised, Jarod was an extremely powerful psyker after all, far more powerful than the space marine, and it was likely that Jarod could see well into the warp, even if his vision was somewhat hampered.

What happened next felt very odd to the space marine, as the Necron lady laughed, and Jarod laughed alongside her. Albeit cautiously.

"You truly are a powerful psyker indeed! I knew from the moment your species attacked this tomb that I was not dealing with my races ancient enemy." She explained. Waving her hand to the side, the walls opened up and all the guardsmen that had been captured fell out, groaning as they hit the floor, "I do apologize, but I could not be certain that I could convince you to use diplomacy if you had your small army at your back."

"I'll be honest, I'm probably the closest thing you'll ever see to the diplomat willing to talk. I'm pretty sure the space marines are gritting their teeth and the Techpriest is about ready to shoot you and then turn and shoot me." He explained, nodding to the Astartes and Alek respectively.

He wasn't wrong either. While Alaric had put a great deal of trust into Jarod and his actions, the same could not be said for the black-shield. Calivar wasn't gritting his teeth per-say, but there was a distinct frown underneath his helmet. He was totally right about Alek though, the techpriest was using every ounce of will power not to shoot the Necron and then blast Jarods head off.

The Necron chuckled, "Well, that much is obvious. If I may, could we begin negotiations? I would rather not have to lose any more of my warriors, and I severely doubt that you can replace yours with any sort of ease." She said.

Jarod nodded, lowering his laspistol and sheathing his power sword, "I agree. If you would be so kind as to call off your troops, I will do the same for mine." 

The Necron hesitates for a moment before answering, the green glow of her eyes dimming slightly, "I do apologize, but I am unable to make them passive at all. I can drag them further into the tomb and order them not to actively assault your troops, but that is the most I can do." She explains.

Jarod grimaces, before turning to Alek, "Alek, would you please return to the surface and tell Inquisitor Karev and General Gaz to pull the guardsmen back to friendly lines?" He asked, before turning to Alaric, "And Alaric, would you please accompany him and the guardsmen back up to the surface? I would hate for his bais against the Necrons to affect the negotiations."

Alaric chuckled, nodding his head, "With pleasure." he replied.

[-]

"So, where do we start?" Jarod asked as he sat down at a table the Necron had brought into the room. Calivar stood menacingly behind him, the space marines bolter ready to fire at anything resembling a threat.

"I suppose introductions are in order first. I am Nevha Cleo, Lady of the Necrontyr, or as you have so fondly called them as they are now, the Necrons." She said introducing herself.

"And I am Jarod Carolinus, Rogue Trader, psyker, and generally the closest thing to a good guy this universe has." he said, "And the space marine glaring at you is Calivar, a blackshield."

"Blackshield?" Nevha asked.

"Long story short, he did something unforgivable and is looking to atone for it. He does not belong to a chapter or any creed but his own. I won't go into detail as it isn't my story to tell, but I can say that I trust him to have my back." Jarod explained.

Nevha nodded, "I must ask, what is your species? how advanced are you? You use such simple weapons to combat my people, though they are effective I must admit."

"We are Humans, or Terrans if you want to use our planet-given name. We are currently the dominant species in the galaxy, though if things continue as they are that may not be the case in the next few thousand years. We are brutal, inefficient, destructive, creative… you could probably just blurt out an adjective and you would be describing some subsection of humanity." He explained, "If you want to ask how such a species came to rise to power… well, I'm afraid to say that it was due to us being the only ones _able_ to do so."

Nevha leaned forward, her elbows on the table and her chin resting on her folded hands, "How long has it been since the Necrons sold their souls to the C'tan?" she asked.

Jarod sighed, "It has been well over sixty million years."

The Necron lady remained silent for a good long while, her hands coming off the table to rest at her side, and her eyes turning downwards.

"Sixty _million_ years...?" She asked weakly, her voice sounding like something inside her had broken.

Jarod nodded solemnly, "Am I to assume that you do not know how your war ended?" he asked.

Nevha shook her head silently, still looking at the surface of the table.

Jarod nodded, before going on to explain everything he knew about the war in heaven. How the Necrons sold their souls to the C'tan, and how their gods devoured them and used the husks left behind to fight a war that they had no hope of winning. How the Old Ones created the Orks, and possibly the Tyranids, how the C'tan were shattered, how the Necrons locked themselves away in their tombs, how the Eldar fell into their sick, twisted debauchery, how they birthed a new Chaos god, and finally, how the Emperor of mankind made his debut, creating a new Empire, one that had been the dominant force in the galaxy for over ten thousand years.

She remained silent throughout his entire speech. Even the tomb was deathly silent as if the ancient walls seemed to weep in silence at the state of the galaxy and its people. When his speech finished, he looked at the Necron Lady, waiting for her response.

"You say that my people reside in tombs such as these?" She asked, her voice unstable, after minutes of silence, "Without their souls? Devoid of all life and personality?"

"They do. While there is a handful that still remains somewhat sane, such as yourself, they are far and few between."

She remained silent for another moment, before asking "Tell me about your people, Jarod Carolinus. Tell me about humanity."

Jarod obliged.

[-]

Calivar simply stared at the mortal human before him. A man that knew such knowledge that he rivaled even the most ancient librarians and recordkeepers. The space marine all but forgot the fact that they were in the process of negotiating with a Necron of all things, and instead focused on Jarod's tale. Jarod spoke of the Emperor, the Primarchs, the chaos gods, the Horus Heresy, the deaths of almost every Primarch, and the aftermath.

He found himself enraptured in the tales and found himself feeling a range of emotions that he never thought he would feel. Rage at the truth that Horus had manipulated his gene-father into destroying the homeworld of Magnus the red, despair at the tale of the Emperor's final fight with his favored son, and melancholy at the conclusion of the tale.

"And now, it is the forty-first Millenium, and there is only war."

Calivar was not a simple man. Few Astartes were, but when Jarod finished his tale… he felt so utterly small in the grand scale of the universe.

He promised himself, then, that no matter what happened, no matter what enemy he faced, he would be there to face it. He would not stand idly by as the sons and daughters of the Imperium spent their lives to protect a dying Empire.

No, Jarod had a plan, and the black-shield would stand by his side.

[-]

Nevha sat there, unmoving, unflinching as the Human told his tale. The war fought between her race and the Old ones. She had read the reports, of course, many of them multiple times over, but the way Jarod had described it… the brutality of it, the amount a staggering loss, was any of it worth it?

She listened as he told of the Eldar, the sworn enemies of her people, how they had conquered the galaxy, but then fallen into perpetual arrogance and hedonism. How they had come so close to reaching the heights that the Old Ones had, before falling to their own temptations. Was it worth the debauchery and hedonism? Were they truly satisfied with their lot in life?

The rise of an arrogant dictator, and the fall caused by his neglect of his sons. How he had tried to make the perfect empire, attempting to learn from their mistakes, but at the same time, falling into the same pit that all those before him had fallen into.

Arrogance.

' _And now,'_ she wondered, _'What is my role in all of this?'_

She could not be sure, gods know she may never be sure, but one thing she did know. Jarod would not be telling all of this, any of this, without some kind of goal in mind for her.

He had a plan, and she wanted to be at his side every step of the way.

[-]

 **986.M41, Cellos VI**

 **Imperial Medi-center**

Michael sighed as he lay in his cot, unable to even move. His back had finally healed up, so that was a plus. The forty-first millennium may be trying to kill him, but at least they knew how to help him keep getting back up to. Not only did he get a brand new arm when his meaty one was ripped off, but now he was getting three-star treatment for his injuries! He wouldn't give them five stars though, the nurse that tended to his bandages had terrible bedside manners after all.

He also might have been a little high on painkillers at that moment.

"What'r you lookin at?" He said to the lasgun propped up in the corner of the room.

He barely even noticed the Eldar walk into the room.

"So, you are one of the two Mon'keigh that my teacher has so adamantly insisted will save us all?" she asked, "I am… less than impressed."

Michael let out a 'pffpt' in her general direction, "Ur' jus' sayin' tha' cuz' ur' jealous."

Tasiel facepalmed. Yes, the man was high, and likely wouldn't remember a word she said, but the least he could do was not act like a… well, a Mon'kiegh.

"Hey, you trea' us like dir't, you can' espec' much more than that…" he said, making her jump a bit.

What did he just say? Did he just read her mind? Elirom had warned her that one of them was a psyker and a powerful one at that, but who in their right mind would drug a psyker!?

"I ain' a psy-kur, imma jus' a kid from a diff'rt dim- dimen- universe… I th'nk…"

Thinking quickly, Tasiel put Michael to sleep, the quiet sound of his breath coming quickly. His sleeping form was peaceful, handsome even, and that beard… Tasiel would admit, even as an Eldar, the human form did look pleasing to the eye. Still, she had a job to do, and nothing would stand in her way.

[-]

 **A/N: Welp, after just over two weeks, here's chapter 13! Sorry about taking so long between chapters, but school, combined with my new job, and just all around busyness has made it hard to write at all. Still, I'm not going anywhere, and neither is this story! So I hope y'all enjoyed the bit of exposition/character development this chapter provided! Feel free to ask any questions!**


	14. Chapter 14

**996.M41 Cellos VI**

 **Imperial Guard encampment**

"And he is currently negotiating with the Necron warlady…?" Gaz asked the Techpriest, not quite sure what to think of the situation.

"Confirmation: He ordered me to come up to the surface and tell you to have your forces fall back to a defensive line," Alek explained.

Gaz glanced upward, "And the space marine standing behind you?" he asked.

The techpriest made a slight whirring noise, "To avoid… personal bias."

Gaz sighed, turning to look at the holo-table which held a map of the combat zone. Months had passed, thousands of men were dead, and now some Rogue Trader was going to end the war just like that...? It was nigh on impossible to believe.

"When will he return?" Asked the Inquisitor.

"Unknown. The amount of time to negotiate with the Necrons could take days, perhaps even weeks. We should also prepare our forces in case the negotiations are to fail."

Gaz hummed, turning to Alaric, "And what do you think, space marine?"

"I have full confidence in Captain Jarod's ability. He has dealt with Xenos on more than one occasion, and has shown a great aptitude for diplomacy."

Inquisitor Karev cursed under his breath, sighing at the sheer audacity of the situation they were all in, "I suppose there is no convincing him to abandon such negotiations?" He asked.

The space marine shook his head, "When Jarod Carolinus has decided to do something, there is very little you can say that will give him pause."

[-]

"-and if you were to just outright _declare_ yourself a higher rank, they wouldn't exactly have a reason not to believe you, and because there's no one here of a higher status, even if they thought to argue, no one could actually back them," Jarod said, finishing a long-winded explanation.

"Hmm… I had not thought of that. I suppose it would be worth a try." Nevha pondered.

"If you did that, then the warriors would be underneath your direct control and we wouldn't have to keep avoiding each other." He explained.

Nevha nodded, before standing from her seat, "If I am to do this, then I suppose it would warrant… ceremony… of all things."

Jarod chuckled, "I suppose you do. Have anything in mind?"

"I was thinking of rallying the commanders of the army and doing what you suggested," she said simply.

Standing up from his chair and following Nevha out of the room, they started walking through the tomb. The Necron warlady made sure to keep the warrior patrols out of their path as to avoid a confrontation between them and Jarod, and before long, they found themselves in a large, dark room. They stood on a balcony roughly a dozen feet in the air, with a set of stairs going off to the side. The room itself was probably several hundred meters long and across, making it difficult to see anything in the black darkness that enshrouded the room.

When Nevha spoke, the effect was immediate, "Necrontyr! My people! Awake!"

Thousands of glowing, acid green eyes opened at the sound of her voice. Bright green lights lit up the room, revealing a vast army of Necron warriors, each one a pristine silver and green.

"I am Nevha Cleo, Warlady of the Ektahk Dynasty. From this moment forward, I will be known as Phaeron Nevha of the Ektahk Dynasty!" She announced, silently hoping that the rogue trader's plan was as solid as he claimed it would be.

The Necron army responded by saluting in the way Necrons do, the loud clank of metal echoing through the room.

"As my first act as Phaeron, I am declaring a truce with the Imperium of Man and all their subsidiaries," she announced.

[-]

The first thing the Guardsmen noticed was the distinct lack of artillery bombardment. The green beams of energy had stopped, and when several fearful Guardsmen peaked over the edge of the trenches and walls, they weren't immediately atomized. Where the guardsmen had broken through the first wall, the entrance to the tomb remained silent, and where the Necron defenses still stood, the metallic Xenos stood lined up on the wall, seeming to ignore the men who had been shooting at them not an hour earlier.

Inside the command tent, no one was quite sure what to make of the situation.

"Did the man actually do it…?" Gaz asked hopefully.

"He had the Necrons full attention when he began negotiations, so it would not surprise me if he did. How he did though, that is the question." Alaric explained.

When the Necron tomb started to shift, with several Warriors coming out and lining the entrance, several Guardsmen panicked and almost shot them, only to be stopped by their superior officers who had been given orders not to open fire. A strange order to be sure, but one that any guardsmen worth their salt was going to follow.

The clank of metal feet rang throughout the valley, and if one looked closely enough, they would see the forms of dozens of Necron warriors exiting the Entrance. It wasn't long before columns of them started pouring out, hundreds if not thousands of them walking in perfect unison. And at the head of this new army, was none other than a Rogue Trader and a Phaeron.

The Necrons continued to pour out, but they slowly began to line up alongside the edges of the valley, filling it up to the brim. While this happened, Jarod, Nevha, Calivar, and a select few honor guard made their way to the guardsman line. Many a man prayed to the Emperor that day, and many a commissar wondered if they shouldn't be shooting at the Rogue Trader for consorting with Xenos.

Still, when the commanders saw that Jarod was headed their way, they made all haste to meet him.

They met less than a hundred meters from the guardsmen line, with a Chimera APC driving up and the Inquisitor, General Gaz, Techpriest Alek, and Alaric all stepped out of the vehicle to meet Jarod and the as of yet unknown Phaeron.

"Inquisitor!" Jarod called out, a smile on his face.

"Captain, it seems you have… succeeded, in some way." Karev responded, relatively unsure what to say.

"That I have. May I introduce you to Phaeron Nevha Cleo, of the Ektahk Dynasty. She has declared a truce with the Imperium and all her subsidiaries, and I think it would be wise if we reciprocate the gesture." Jarod explained.

Inquisitor Karev let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose, "You are well aware that I am obligated to charge you with Heresy correct?" he asked.

Jarod snorted, "If the Emperor walked of the golden throne and said 'I am not a god', you would burn him for heresy. I'm pretty sure there isn't a thing I've done that isn't considered heresy somewhere in the galaxy."

Gaz simply stared at the Necron army, dumbfounded. They didn't have nearly the number of troops needed to fight the hundreds of thousands of Necron warriors that lay beneath the planets surface, and if what the Rogue Traders claim was genuine, then they could save hundreds of thousands, if not millions of lives by accepting the truce.

Alaric simply grinned beneath his helmet, surprised that Jarod was able to accomplish his goal so easily, but not so much so as to be dumbstruck. He was an Astartes after all.

The techpriest muttered in binary, cursing the Rogue Trader for his heretical ways and the fact that he was totally unable to do anything about it. Even if he were to inform the Magos of his home forgeworld, they had much better things to do and would likely write him off as a lunatic, or worse, a Heretek.

"Well, I for one would be glad to have one less gun aimed at our heads," Gaz said firmly, turning to the Phaeron "As the General of the 2nd Kathian Regiment, we agree to your truce, and will do our best to uphold it."

"As a representative of the Ordo Xenos of the Emperors Holy Inquisition, I will do the same. Though I will state that you should not expect the same from the rest of the Inquisitors, for there are many of us."

Jarod turned to Alek, eyebrow raised.

"Reluctant Statement: I cannot guarantee the actions of the Adeptus Mechanicus, however, I will take no actions against you."

Jarod nodded, turning to Nevha, "Well, there you have it. You are officially at peace with one of the most powerful organizations in the galaxy." He said with a smirk.

[-]

 **986.M41**

 **Slaaneshi Daemon world**

Deep within the bowels of the warp, Lucius the Eternal laughed as he slaughtered the many cultists of Slaanesh. His victims did not scream in pain or terror but rather moaned in an agonizing euphoria. The feeling of the Laer blade rending their flesh apart was something that the hedonistic worshippers of the Prince of Pleasure found to be a potent aphrodisiac, hallucinogen, and stimulant all wrapped into one.

The son of Fulgrim was in pure bliss, unable to comprehend the feeling of true discomfort, as every one of his senses was overwhelmed. The bright, clashing colors of the Emperors Children's armor made the eyes water and burn, the sounds of screams, moans and the white noise of the noise marines made ears bleed from its intensity. The smell of blood and other bodily fluids coated everything, making many lose their sense of smell entirely. All this and so much more were the gifts given to the followers of Slaanesh.

And yet, Lucius was… unsatisfied. Ten millennia of constant exposure to every sensory stimulus imaginable would do that to a person, even an Astartes, and Lucius craved something new. Something fresh.

Wiping the blood from his sword, he turned to face one of the traitor marines who had caught his attention, one who had been savagely slaughtering and raping the slaves kept on their world. The Astartes had led a failed raid on an Eldar craftworld - Aurorum III if he remembered correctly - and had since acted more like a Khornate Berserker than a Slaaneshi marine.

The fact the raid had failed was not an unusual thing all things told, but the tales that the survivors had told… guardsmen assisting the Eldar? Lasguns killing space marines? It was a story some refused to believe no matter what explanation was given, but Lucius thought otherwise.

It was not unheard of for radical members of the Inquisition, or certain Rogue Traders to make short-term alliances with the Xenos, and it would not surprise the Lord Commander to learn that this was just such a scenario.

Still, the marine that had to lead the Incursion had been dedicated to having his revenge on the craftworld and had been gathering allies, many of which were not even worshippers of Slaanesh. Some were simply random cultists of Chaos undivided looking for some purpose, others still were Khornate worshippers with a grudge against the Eldar in one way or another. And others still were members of the Night Lords, Raptors who sought to gain the favor of Slaanesh.

Lucius doubted the Marine would be the one truly leading the Expedition by the end of it, but who would end up leading it was another question entirely. On a whim, mostly because he had nothing better to do, Lucius opened up a conversation with the Marine.

"So, you plan to lead a raid on that craftworld yet again?" asked lucius, using the lash of torment to string up a slave as he skinned them alive.

"You should know well enough I do, Lord Commander. I would ask you to join us, but I don't know if it would be to your specific taste." the marine answered.

Lucius only laughed, "And what makes you think I would have no interest, hmm? Do you not think that I would enjoy such a thing?" he asked.

"No, but I would be surprised if you had other engagements at the time."

"You would be surprised… Ten thousand years tends to allow for some free time, I should think. What would you say if I were to join you?"

"I would be a fool to turn down such an offer." He responded.

Lucius chuckled, "Well said."

The Eternal servant of Slaanesh finished their discussion in the act of bisecting the moaning slave in the clutches of the Lash of torment, dropping the corpse to the blood-soaked ground.

[-]

Jarod watched the last of his Guardsmen clamber onto the transports headed back to the _Emperor's Boot,_ satisfied that they had served the Emperor well. Michael rolled up next to him in a wheelchair, his legs still not fit to stand, let alone walk.

"Well, can't say you didn't do a good job." Michael commented.

Jarod chuckled, "I actually managed to get the Necrons on my side, the zombie robots who can dampen the warp."

"I'm more surprised that one of them was a girl. I mean, not that that's a bad thing, just the GW never made any female models for them, nor did they write anything in the lore for them to my knowledge." Michael explained.

Jarod smiled, before a frown found its way onto his face, "How long have we been here Michael?" He asked.

Michael hummed in thought, "Well, last I checked we got here in the year 985.M41, and only switched over to 986 a month ago, so, I don't know, just under a year?"

Jarod hummed, looking at the local guardsmen saying their goodbyes to his own, "Thirteen years." He muttered, "Thirteen years until Abaddon's Thirteenth Black Crusade."

Michael nodded, "We might be dead by then, but knowing our luck, we'll probably be on the front lines. At least getting Trayzins help will be easier, now that we have some other Necrons to help convince him."

"True enough, still though, have you thought of how to prepare for it?" Jarod asked.

Michael grimaced, "Cadia will fall. I don't think that's something we can change, not without canceling out the crusade in the first place."

"And it's not like I have the standing with Tzeentch to do that. He wants change, that much is true, but does he want it so bad that he'll sabotage one of his own schemes to get it? One that's been in place for thousands of years?" Jarod asked, "I don't know, probably, but I'm not going to bet on anything."

"We're dealing with what are basically gods here, we'll be lucky if we can guess a third of what goes through their heads."

"Yeah, that's true…"

The two continued to stare at the troops, until finally, they were the only ones left on the hill, everyone else having left the planet or moved back to the encampment. They didn't even acknowledge the teleporting Eldar behind them.

"Elirom said that the two of you were unconventional, but I did not expect you to ally with those atrocities." Tasiel spoke, her voice dripping with venom.

The two turned to face her, flat looks glaring at the Eldar, "Ya'know, it's been sixty million years since the two of you almost wiped out all life in the galaxy. Don't you think it would be a good idea to lay off the hate for a while? Nevha doesn't even remember fighting you, and I don't think she'd want another enemy anyway." Jarod commented.

Tasiel tsked, her helmet hiding the glare she wore on her face, "You expect us to forgive the ones who started the War in Heaven?" she asked.

Michael shrugged, "I mean, considering your empires downfall wasn't even their fault, and I seriously doubt you were alive to witness what happened during that war, I don't think it would be hard."

"Be careful psyker, I am far more powerful than you are, or could ever hope to be." she said.

The two interdimensional travelers paused, "Did you just call me a psyker?" Michael asked suddenly.

Underneath her helmet, Tasiel's eyes narrowed, "You read my mind when I went to see you the first time. Granted it was only surface thoughts, and you are clearly not a powerful psyker, but you are one nonetheless. A bit disappointing, considering Elirom's boasting of your so called 'power'."

Jarod coughed, giving Michael a wary look, before turning to Tasiel, "It may surprise you to know, that _I_ am the psyker Elirom told you about."

As soon as he finished speaking, he unbarred a portion of his psychic power, not so much as to leave himself undefended against the predators of the warp. He instantly felt the souls of every living thing around him, from the soldiers down in the encampment and up in orbit, to the birds native to the planet.

Tasiel recoiled at the sheer _light_ that exploded from Jarod's soul. Like so many before her, she was blinded within the warp by what she saw, though unlike others, she was able to recover quickly enough thanks in part to Jarod reigning in a rather large portion of his power.

"What… what are you?" She asked, unsure of what to think of the man before her.

Jarod smirked, "I'm a nerd from the 3rd millenium who got sucked into the 41st millenium by Tzeentch thanks to some utter bullcrap and a lot of overthinking things." He answered quickly.

"I'm sorry, what-?"

"I'm an incredibly powerful psyker who happened to be the heir to a Rogue Trader. My powers were dormant until a trio of space marines forced me to unlock my abilities." The fact that Tzeentch was the catalyst for that event left unsaid.

"Ah, I… suppose that makes sense. Still… you are almost as bright as the Anathema." She commented, causing both Michael and Jarod to share a quick glance.

"Wait… are you saying I'm almost as bright as the Astronomican?" Jarod asked.

The Eldar nodded.

Jarod hummed, "This… complicates things somewhat." he said. Focusing his power, he raised his defences again, dimming his light, allowing Tasiel to focus on the world around her again.

"What complicates things?" Michael asked dryly, "The fact that you're basically a second Astronomican, or the fact that I'm apparently a latent psyker."

"Both, though the former of which I was somewhat aware of." he elaborated.

The three let out a collective sigh. It was going to be a long way back to Aurorum III.

[-]

Again, the light flashed, and again, they changed course. The steady, slow burning light had been guiding them for so long, and now another had made its presence known. They would consume it, for that was their purpose. They would feed, grow, evolve, and become stronger.

Their ever-present shadow moved with them, denying any hope of the light seeing them. A shadow in the warp.

They would feed, and they would do so soon.

[-]

 **A/N: WOOO! Another chapter so soon!? Crazy! The biggest reason this chapter has come out as soon as it has is mostly due to the fact that I've been on a bit on a writing spree, and have finally gotten around to reading Dark Imperium. The book itself is a little slow, and very heavy on exposition, but I need the lore building, even if the special snowflake marines are a bit much.**


	15. Chapter 15

**986.M41 Emperor's Boot**

Three months. Three long months of warp travel and they were almost back to the craftworld. Jarod sighed as he leaned back in his chair. He had spent hours working out the paperwork that he had been putting off for roughly a month before they entered the warp. Three months of travel and nothing to do turned out to work wonders for getting work done.

The paperwork also resulted in him learning quite a bit about the Emperor's boot and it's crew. Manned by over two thousand people, it worked like a well-oiled machine… which it was. They had roughly four thousand guardsmen left from when they were first recruited by Robert, taking enough to raise them to five thousand men.

In total, the number of men and women on board the _Emperor's Boot_ came out at about seven and a half thousand people, with that number fluctuating every so often. Kind of a small number compared to the rest of the Imperial ships out in the galaxy, but enough to keep the kilometer and a half long frigate up and running. There were only a handful of techpriests on board, all of them being under the direct command of Magos Matthias. There was, of course, their navigator, who rarely spoke to anyone and mostly just sat in their daemon resistant room.

Thinking about it, Jarod didn't even know the man's name until he looked it up in the database; and even then he forgot it almost immediately. All things considered, it wasn't all that important, and if what he had heard from the command decks crew was to be believed, the Navigator preferred to be left to his duties in following the Astronomican.

Moving his mind to their encounter with Farseer Tasiel, Jarod only became more concerned about his partners possible psyker abilities. The two of them had immediately gone to Alaric to see if what the Eldar said was true, and the space marine - while not outright confirming it - did say that Michael's soul shined brighter in the warp compared to that of a natural human. Jarod was a bit surprised that he didn't notice himself, but Alaric had explained that it was not uncommon for newly discovered psykers to be unable to differentiate relatively minor differences between peoples souls.

Another thing that Jarod had gone and done during the trip was taking a look at the contraption he had attached to the Gellar Drive during one of his drunken escapades. The device would hum off and on when they were in the warp, and while no one was quite sure what it did, it didn't seem to cause any harm - immediate or otherwise. Though, during one particular experiment, Alaric did note that there were fewer daemons trying to get through the fields when the device was humming.

In the end, the group decided to simply leave it, not wanting to risk breaking something that was, by all accounts, helping.

During the three months long trip, Michael also managed to heal, though… not through 'convetional means'. His hand healed well enough, the bones and tissue healing quickly once they were set back in place, but his legs were another matter. The bone was severely damaged, and metal braces were put in to keep them stable, and while he was technically considered combat ready, Matthias had warned Michael that if his legs took any damage like that ever again, prosthetics might be his only option.

[-]

Richard could hardly be called a simple man. His life up to this point had been a roller coaster of combat, Chaos, heresy, Xenos, and anything else that would have gotten him shot by a commissar. Fortunately for him, he happened to know the Rogue Trader and Captain Michael personally, though considering the two of them were often accompanied by eight-foot-tall space marines… he rarely sought them out.

It wasn't as if he was ungrateful to have two of the Emperor's own angels of death, but considering at least one of them used to be a Chaos Space Marine - now a black shield - and the other a former member of the Deathwatch and a psyker, the two were probably more dangerous than most already dangerous Adeptus Astartes. Still, they had saved his life back in his old regiment, and he owed them a debt.

He was also the one many of the other guardsmen came to looking for advice, more often than not in the middle of his lunch.

"So… I mean, I've heard stories about Rogue Traders, about them being insane lunatics that are hardly better than Inquisitors!" One of the rookies asked leaning over his food tray. Well, 'rookie' wasn't the right term per se, but the man was new to the _Emperor's Boot_ , and that was enough to color him a rookie by most of the other guardsmen standards.

"Well, I suppose that depends. Jarod and Captain Michael are both… eccentric, I think is the right word. I'm sure you've seen them chatting with the space marines, they seem to know just how they'll act as if they've known them for a long time. Realistically it's a good thing your suspicious, better to be so than to just accept such behavior." Richard admitted, "Now, I can tell you right now that it shouldn't worry you. Just… be prepared for what's to come."

The rookie's eyes went wide for a second, before he calmed almost immediately, still leaning forward, "W-what do you mean?"

"Well, to anyone else in the galaxy, making peace with the Necron's of all things would be heresy right?" Richard asked, the rookie nodding furiously, "Well, their not the only Xenos he's managed to team up with. Matter of fact that's where we're headed now, to the Eldar Craftworld of Aurorum-III."

"Eldar?" the guardsmen asked whimsically.

"Yeah, pointy-eared lunatics. They're fast when the fighting starts, I'll tell you that. Still takes more than a few to take down a Chaos space marine though."

The young guardsmen gulped, "T-traitor marines!? You've fought them?"

Richard let out a chuckle, "My friend, if you live long enough, you might even get to kill one. I did after all."

The conversation continued after that, the boy asking a dozen different questions, before moving on. The next day, the conversation would be repeated with a different guardsman. It was rather tiresome all things considered, but Richard would admit it was better than sitting in a trench waiting to be slaughtered by some Nurgle Cultists.

One day, while walking down the halls of the ship, he actually managed to run into Michael of all people, on one of the few occasions he wasn't being trailed by a space marine or a cogboy.

"Ah! Hey Richard, haven't seen you in a while." Michael greeted him, holding out a hand.

Richard shrugged, shaking the offered limb, "Well, We've been in the warp a few months now, and you've been spending the bulk of your time in the Medical ward. Still nice to see you without those space marines trailing you."

"Well, I'm finally back on my feet at least. Though I have to ask, what's so bad about the space marines?" He asked.

"Their Angels of Death for starters, I suppose. I guess I'm just not used to you treating them so… casually." Richard admitted.

"I guess I can see where you're coming from. Though, as far as treating them casually goes? It gets more and clearer answers out of them when we talk. I don't know, it's just what we do." Michael admitted with a shrug.

Richard nodded, and the two of them parted ways again. One thing that Richard was thankful for was how involved Michael was as a commander. While he was in charge of the men sent to the front lines and gave orders to attack or retreat, he didn't do it from behind a fancy desk up in orbit like so many other commanders did, he was on the ground alongside his men.

Jarod held a similar reputation in his eyes, as while he was rarely part of the frontal assaults, he would often take part in some of the riskier moves, such as when he infiltrated the Necron tomb world or dropped from the roof of the Eldar craftworld. Granted the latter of those ended with him getting backhanded by a traitor marine, but he did survive in the end.

Still, at the end of it all, Michael and Jarod were smart. Emperor knows that they needed to be to have gotten where they were now, that and no small amount of dumb luck.

[-]

"Three minutes until we exit the warp, my lord." One of the bridge crewmen announced.

Jarod smiled. They were finally going to exit the warp, and he could finally get a good nights rest and have a chat with Elirom. Hopefully, they would be able to figure out if Michael really was a psyker.

The minutes passed slowly, agonizingly, until they finally exited the warp. Jarod knew it happened before the crewmen even announced it, the sheer difference in his mind noticing when he exited the warp. What set off a number of alarm bells, however, was the very extreme presence of the warp within realspace not far away.

"How far are we from the craftworld?" Jarod asked cautiously.

"Just over a hundred thousand kilometers sir, we should be able to be there in about twenty minutes sir."

Jarod frowned, sending his consciousness out towards the craftworlds direction. The distance was massive and was difficult even for him to see without unleashing his full power, and so he slowly released bits of it until he could see what exactly was going on. His eyes immediately shot open when he saw what was happening.

"All hands on deck! Tell everyone to prepare for battle!" Jarod yelled suddenly.

"Sir, what are you-"

"My lord! Auger arrays are detecting unknown vessels surrounding the craftworld!" One crewman interrupted another.

"How many?" Jarod asked firmly, the crew already being put on high alert.

"Four, my lord! Unknown size and class, but definitely bigger than us!"

Jarod cursed under his breath, pressing a button in order to vox Michael, "Michael, can you hear me?" He asked.

" _Loud and clear Jarod. What's going on? We just exited the warp and now the whole ships been put on high alert. We didn't run into a Tyranid hive fleet did we?"_ He asked.

"Arguably worse. There are about four chaos ships surrounding the craftworld. Last time it was just the one, but now it seems they've come back with reinforcements." Jarod explained.

Michael cursed over the vox, pausing for a moment, _"How long until we reach them?"_

"About twenty minutes until we can get you on the craftworld, probably a bit longer as those ships are going to be shooting at us pretty soon."

" _Just great. And I was having such a nice day too."_

"Welcome to the forty-first millennium," Jarod said before finally cutting off the vox.

The next several minutes were some of the tensest moments the crew had experienced. Almost everyone remained silent as they kept getting closer to the craftworld. After a few minutes, it seemed one of the Chaos ships took notice of them and started heading their way. Once they got close, they realized it was a very much corrupted sword class frigate. While the _Emperor's_ _Boot_ was technically smaller than the former imperial vessel, it would definitely have an easy time taking out something like that frigate.

The _Emperor's Boot_ was covered stern to bow in armor and guns, with overlapping void shields that would make Heavy weapons blush. Richard really hadn't skimped out when the ship had been built, as day after day, it seemed to be showing off new toys for Jarod to play with.

After about ten minutes, both ships were in the range of each other's weapons, and Jarod gave the order to fire. The first volley of shots went wide, not even coming close to hitting, with the first volley from the Chaos ships coming a bit close for comfort, but missing all the same. The second volley was much more successful, with the kinetic shells exploding against the ships void shields. Laser weapons were used as well, though to a less devastating effect.

As the two engines of war closed in on each other, the ratio of hits and misses leaned ever closer to the former, with shots hitting more frequently. However, while the aim of Jarod's crew had only seemed to improve the closer they got, the Chaotic forces seemed to get more frantic, with shells firing at illogical angles and targeting necessary areas of the ship. Even when they were less than ten thousand kilometers away, the forces of chaos still missed around half their shots. And that was including the lasers.

Eventually, they managed to bring down the enemies void shields, and one of their shells hit a vital part of the ship, causing the engines to explode from the inside out, spacing the crew and leaving the ship a lifeless husk. All in all, the void shields held, and Jarod let out a sigh of relief. Fortunately for him, the other ships didn't seem to notice his skirmish… at least at first.

One thing not many people knew, was that craftworlds were absolutely massive. As in, making the death star look like a tugboat massive. These things were what housed entire planets worth of population after all, and the Eldar never did anything by halves. As a result of this fact, the chaos corrupted ships were too far away and too focused on what they were doing to try and deal with one measly ship. They probably didn't even realize that one of their own had been destroyed.

Moving closer to the craftworld, Jarod ordered the ship to swing around and dock with the opposite side of the craftworld in order to avoid immediate ship-to-ship combat. Most of the guardsmen, both space marines, and whatever vehicles would fit on the craftworld were unloaded, with Michael planning on leading the defense on the ground while Jarod focused on the void combat.

Elirom was standing at the docking bay to greet Michael, with a frustrated look on his face.

"We leave for six months and the whole place falls apart!" Michael exclaimed in frustration, "What happened!?"

"The forces of the dark gods have come back for revenge. I saw this as a _possible_ outcome but… not a likely one. It seems I was wrong in that regard." The farseer explained.

Michael threw his hands up in exasperation, "Well, that just goes to show you can't exactly trust future knowledge… anyway, what's the situation? What kind of numbers are we dealing with?"

"There are thousands of mortal cultists throwing themselves at our defenses, with more than a few of their space marine rulers commanding and assisting them. Fortunately, there are no never-born among their ranks, and while the majority of them are pledged to she-who-thirsts, there are many worshippers of the blood god among them, oddly enough."

Michael cursed under his breath, before ordering his forces to advance. It only took them a few minutes to get to the front line thanks to the design of Aeldari roads and the fact that they did have access to smaller armor, but a few minutes was a few minutes too long. When they finally reached the front, it was chaos.

The Eldar held the line, their weapons ripping through the cultists like a hot knife through butter, but the sheer number of crazed and mutated humans was making it difficult to defend against. At some point, the defenders stopped using wraithbone barricades, and instead started using the corpses of the cultists as improvised sandbags. A rather macabre strategy, but functional nonetheless.

The guardsmen reinforcements were a breath of fresh air to the Aeldari defenders, with Imperial lasguns giving the Aspect Warriors time to reload and regroup.

Michael personally set up next to an Eldar dire avenger, "How long have you been holding out?" Michael asked, his voice projecting over the screams and gunfire.

The Elder leaned over the barricade, taking a shot before ducking to avoid a spray of bullets, "Less than an hour, contrary to what the corpses would have you believe." He explained.

Michael grimaced, taking a look at the battlefield in front of them. The forces of chaos, confirming what Elirom had said earlier, were mostly made up of cultists, with a handful of traitor marines directing the hoard.

Michael and his guardsmen managed to cull the tide, keeping the cultists from gaining any more ground. It almost looked like they were going to be able to turn the tide entirely. Until the berserker arrived.

A giant clad in adamantium plate and ceramite charged into the guardsmen line. Michael barely got a look at the traitor before he realized how bad the situation had gotten. Unlike the other traitor marines that commanded the cultists, this Khornate berserker was clad in tactical dreadnought armor. Terminator armor.

The shurikens of the Eldar weapons bounced off the plated armor, and the modified lasguns - while miles more effective than normal lasguns - still only managed to scratch the paint off of the armor.

The blood red giant tore through the Eldar, his brutal chainaxe in one hand rendering them in half while a daemonic storm-bolter tore through the guardsmen. Many Howling Banshees, Striking Scorpions, and even a warp spider tried getting in close, but their weapons did almost nothing to the traitor.

The cultists took advantage of the breach as well, and they started pouring through the guardsman line, some getting a bit too close to the berserker and getting ripped apart in the bloodshed. Cursing under his breath, Michael ordered the line to fall back, taking potshots at the cultists whenever the opportunity presented itself.

The allies fell back to the outer gardens, less than a kilometer from the hab-blocks. The forces of chaos slaughtered anyone to slow to reach the new barricade. The Imperial armor managed to slow the advance somewhat, but even the heavy stubbers on the APC's did little to stem the flow of madmen and traitor Marines.

Michael pressed his back against a wraithbone pillar, breathing heavily, before he spotted a Howling Banshee dragging themselves away from the battle, a hand clutching a stomach wound. Sighing, Michael burst from cover, shooting a few las bolts towards the cultists.

At the last possible second, he dropped his weapon and picked up the Eldar in one motion, throwing her over his shoulders as he sprinted back to cover. Bullets and lasfire surrounded him as he slid behind the burning wreckage of an Eldar grav-tank, setting the howling banshee down next to him.

Peeking out of cover, he made sure the line held. Fortunately for him, it seemed the forces of the dark gods seemed to be letting off the assault to regroup. Looking back to the groaning Eldar, he immediately noticed the red blood already crystallizing around the armor. He reached up to take off the Eldar's helmet, revealing a familiar face.

"Salah?" Michael asked.

"Stupid… Mon'keigh…" the Exarch muttered, making Michael chuckle.

"That's the second time I pulled your ass out the fire," Michael said amusedly.

Salah only groaned, turning her head to the side. Thinking quickly, Michael waved down an APC as it drove past them, it's auto-gun turret roaring as it provided suppressing fire for the retreating troops. Picking up Salah, he made his way over to the vehicle, staying low to avoid the enemy.

"Get her to the hab-blocks! Make sure she gets to whatever count's as a medic around here!" Michael ordered as he put her into the back seat of the vehicle. The trooper driving nodded, turning around and driving to the back of the line.

Michael turned back to the battlefield just in time to avoid a bolt round, the explosive shot exploding behind him. Carefully peaking out of cover, he saw Calivar and Alaric fighting back to back, the black shield wielding his bolter and the librarian swinging his power sword and conjuring warp lighting.

[-]

Above them, Jarod commanded the Emperor's boot to engage the Chaos fleet above the craftworld. While they were still at point-blank range in terms of void combat, Jarod didn't fire on them for fear of damaging the craftworld as a result, and the Chaos ships took advantage of this, not being able to raise their void-shields while lowering troops onto the craftworld and firing upon the _Emperor's Boot_ with their macro cannons. To counteract this, Jarod ordered all power to the front void shields and the thrusters in hopes of ramming one of the ships.

Fortunately for Jarod, his plan worked, with the enemies weapons exploding against the ship's shields but not being able to bring them down. With no time to spare, the ship slammed into the broadside of the first enemy ship. The results were catastrophic, with the enemy ship collapsing in on itself as the _Emperor's Boot_ slammed into it, the ship tearing in two. The two halves of the ships fell to the craftworld, crashing against it.

The _Emperor's Boot_ continued forward between the two remaining ships, it's own macro cannons firing the second they were at the right angle. With the distance between ships only being a few dozen kilometers, there was almost no reason for the shots to miss, and no, they did not miss.

The macro cannon rounds slammed into the enemy ships, tearing them apart and sending the derelict hulls floating off into space. Jarod smirked to himself, silently thanking all that was holy that his plan paid off.

[-]

"My lord, the ships have been destroyed." One of the Slaaneshi marine's informed Lucius, timidly lowering his head.

Lucius grimaced, looking out at the battlefield before him. Up to that point he had stayed out of the battle to find who was in charge of the situation, and who would provide the greatest challenge. He soon spotted the marine in black and blue armor who was dancing among the cultists with deadly grace, cutting them apart easily. He would at least provide a challenge if nothing else.

"Order the troops to move forward and into the hab-blocks. We've waited long enough." The chaos lord ordered. The traitor marine bowed, before passing on the order.

Up to that point, there had been very few marines in the combat, with only the Khornate berserkers in their impatient rage dashing forward to draw blood. Now, over a hundred Slaaneshi marines joined the fray, tearing into the ranks of the Eldar and Imperial loyalists. It truly was a sight to behold.

At first, it didn't seem like the added presence of Chaos Marines would really change anything, the weapons of the Imperials living up to their reputation of forcing the Marines to stick closer to cover than they otherwise would have. That lasted less than a minute, as one of the Imperial transports exploded, then another, and another, and another. Until finally, the enemies of the chaos gods were forced to break, running into the city behind them, with the rabid cultists and traitor marines following close behind.

Lucius grinned, looking on as the two loyalist space marines covered their allies retreat. Such an act of kindness would certainly fulfill their own demise.

[-]

"Damnit!" Michael cursed as he ran, dodging bolter fire as he ran into the hab-blocks. The forces of chaos had been holding back, clearly, and had brought more than enough chaos marines to tear through their own forces.

As he ran, he heard the screams of men and women as the cultists raped and killed them, not necessarily in that order. The servants of Slaanesh were sick like that. Turning a corner, he pressed his back up against the wall, holding his breath as the cultists chasing him ran right past him.

He wondered where the attack had gone wrong, if they had made some kind of mistake, or were just outmatched from the beginning. _'Probably some combination of the two really'_ he thought to himself.

Letting out a quiet, controlled sigh, he leaned out from his hiding spot to see the damage left behind him. It seemed as though most of the civilians had gotten evacuated, if not all of them, giving him some kind of relief. Still, there was an uneasy feeling in his gut, and he didn't like it. This was only punctuated when he heard a scream that sounded like it came from a little girl.

"MOMMA!"

His head snapped in the direction of the scream, and he began sprinting. His legs ached, having run for so long already, and the metal in his legs felt like it was scraping the inside of his bones. He would probably be in a lot of pain in the near future, but he didn't care all that much, his mind solely focused on the scream.

Eventually, he found the source of the scream, and it made his blood boil. A group of three cultists was standing over the broken and bloodied body of a Howling Banshee, a massive hole in her chest. One of the cultists held what looked like a reddish-purple stone in his hand, a stone that Michael immediately recognized as the Eldar's spirit stone.

Behind the three, another two cultists held a small Eldar girl between them by her arms, letting her watch the Howling Banshee slowly be killed.

Michael recognized the girl as the one who had spoken to him less than a year ago - it wasn't like there were many Eldar children - and it broke his heart seeing her in the position she was in. Tears streaked down her face, her clothing was torn and dirty, and the cultists holding her were just giggling.

"Don't hurt momma!" she cried out in broken low-gothic, trying to stop them to no avail.

The cultist holding her mother's spirit stone laughed, before raising his dagger and driving it down into the stone and through his own hand. The stone shattered, a cry of psychic energy radiating out of it as it screeched in agony as Slaanesh devoured the soul. The cultist only laughed, even as his hand bled profusely as from his own self-inflicted wound.

Michael cried out in pure rage as he rushed forward, firing his las-pistol, taking the head off of the cultists holding the Eldar girl and blasting the arm off the other. He soon reached the three standing over the banshee's corpse, his metal arm gripping the neck of one of them and crushing his wind-pipe, before ripping it out entirely. Blood spewed everywhere, covering Michael's left side and staining his uniform a gaudy red.

The two remaining cultists were unfortunately given time to react. Now that he was closer to them, Michael realized that he stood a good head taller than either of them, and the only real danger was if they somehow had weapon's available to them. His query was soon answered as the cultist that had destroyed the spirit stone pulled the dagger out of his hand, a twisted, rusty thing that now seemed to glow pink with psychic energy.

The cultist stabbed at Michael, making him backstep before swinging his left arm forward, breaking the cultist's nose with the weight of cold Imperial steel. The second cultist came up behind the first, swinging a metal pipe which Michael caught, her attack poorly telegraphed. Before he dealt with her, he brought his las-pistol to the other cultists head and blasted their face off completely, before flipping the weapon around and pistol whipping the woman in front of him. And just like the other, he blasted her face off as well.

The fight was over in seconds, and Michael bearly heard the girls sobbing over his own heavy breathing. Looking down, he saw the girl holding her mother's shoulders, crying into the crook of her neck. It broke his heart to see, even more so that he had not arrived in time to save her mother's spirit stone.

Kneeling next to her, he placed his las-pistol to the side in order to place his still biological hand on the girl's shoulder. She didn't even seem to notice, as she just kept on crying. They stayed like that for several minutes, Michael rubbing her back in order to soothe her and the girl just crying.

Eventually, she stopped, not for lack of emotion mind you, but it seemed she had run out of tears. Michael continued to stay silent, content to just stay kneeling. The girl looked up at him, her eyes puffed up and red with tears. Michael wasn't sure what to do in all honesty, but she seemed to take the lead as she quickly - and surprisingly - wrapped her arms around his neck.

Michael sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do before he slowly and carefully hugged the girl back. She said something, a muffled voice coming from the crook of his shoulder. Carefully, he pulled her away, still holding onto her.

"What did you say?" He asked.

She sniffed, looking up at him, "You stop bad people… you help me. Thank you." she said simply. Michael almost burst into tears himself at that, wrapping her in an even tighter hug. He chuckled, slightly.

They sat there for a few minutes more, the girl content to lay in his arms, not asleep, but calm.

"Kiara, right?" Michael asked, breaking the silence. She nodded. "We can't stay here."

She nodded. She might not have known what had happened, but she knew that there were more of those crazed Mon'keigh looking all over, trying their best to find and kill any Aeldari they came across. Getting up, she stood facing him, and he kneeled in front of her. Her face was covered in grime and blood, and Michael did his best to clean it off with the hem of his sleeve but found his efforts useless as he wasn't in much better shape himself.

For the first time in over a half hour though, his vox rang.

"This is Captain Michael, copy," he called out as he answered the vox-bead.

" _Thank the Emperor! You're alive!"_ the voice on the other end called out, Richard if the voice was right.

"Yeah, I'm alive and I have a little Eldar girl alongside me. What happened?" He asked.

" _An Eldar gi-? You know what, nevermind. Look, we've managed to stabilize thing's out here, but it's still bad. We're on the opposite end of the city from where we started, where are you?"_

"Inside the city at the moment."

" _What!? You're_ inside _the city!? How!? That place has been completely overrun!"_

"Dumb luck, a blessing from the Emperor, who knows? But right now I need to know what the situation is, and how I can get me and her out of the city."

" _Alright… Alright… ok, you remember what we did when we first met?"_

"Yeah. We ran toward friendly lines like a bunch of maniacs."

" _Yeah, DON'T do that. Try and get to the girl to a safe place, and then get yourself over here. We can provide cover fire and open a path for you, should be safer than what happened last time."_

"Well alright then, I'll see you in a bit," Michael said, cutting off the vox link. He turned to Kiara, grabbing her shoulder firmly, "Alright, you need to stay close to me ok?" he asked, getting a nod in response.

The two soon headed out, Michael leading her by the hand and checking the area around them. Eventually, Michael soon discovered a building that was still intact, and actually had a functioning lock on its door.

"Alright, in here," he said, leading her inside. Looking around the room, he led her to the back of the building sitting her down behind a couch.

"Ok, you stay here alright? And here, take these-" he handed her both his vox-bead and las-pistol, "If someone other than me or another Aeldari comes in here, aim and pull the trigger, alright?" He told her, pointing to the las-pistol receiving another nod, "Ok, When this thing beeps, press the button so I can talk to you. If that happens, then I'll be on my way back, alright?"

"Where are you going?" She asked.

Michael smiled warmly, "I'm going to stop more bad people, and help save some good ones."

[-]

Alaric grimaced under his helmet as he decapitated another of the traitors to humanity. It didn't make his blood boil in rage like his cousins in the Black Templars or the Bronze Stars, but he hated the forces of chaos, all the same, only he was willing to use them for the further betterment of humanity.

He and Calivar had helped keep the retreat stable, the two of them being the only ones that could really stand against the Emperor's children warband attacking them. Still, even they were not infallible, and both of them had gained more than a few nicks and dents in their armor.

It seemed the tide of cultists and traitor marines had been stemmed, somewhat, but Alaric was worried that something far worse was on its way. He did not sense the foul presence of daemon's nearby, so it couldn't be that, but something else told him that something was coming, something that could kill him as easily as it breathed.

His worry was given form when the towering form of a space marine came from the edges of the city, clad in armor shaped in the form of a thousand screaming faces, wielding a long, vile whip-like creature in his left hand, and a sharp, cursed sword in his right. This space marine wore no helmet, but Alaric knew that was no advantage to the long-ranged weaponry of the guardsmen and Aeldari warriors.

The giant walked out onto the battlefield, slowly, methodically. The cultists around Alaric began to disperse, and the loyalist marine realized just what was happening. That traitor was heading straight for him.

"I see you study the art of the blade as well, loyalist!" the traitor said, his voice a grating yet smooth sound, as if it was meant to repulse and seduce at the same time.

"I am the Emperor's blade, that I can assure you," Alaric informed him.

The chaos lord laughed, openly and filled with mirth, "You loyalists are all the same! Still, I would have your name before I kill you."

Alaric grimaced, "I am Alaric, of the Astral Winds chapter. And I will not die today."

The chaos lord only let out a low rumbling chuckle, "Well, it seems only fitting that I introduce myself as well. I am Lucius the Eternal! Lord Commander of the Emperor's Children, and favored warrior of the dark prince!"

Alaric readied his stance. He had heard of Lucius the Eternal, and he was aware that he had been alive since the days of the Horus Heresy, but fighting him would be another story entirely. Whether he would survive was yet to be seen, but Alaric didn't let himself dwell on the thought.

The two swordsmen rushed forward, their blades held high before the force fields surrounding them clashed, sparks of energy flowing off them. They were a flurry of movement, dancing back and forth faster than the natural eye could see. Alaric blasted the chaos lord with warp lightning, only for the sentient whip to come up and block the attack. Lucius spun, slashing at Alaric with his blade and whip, the loyalist barely managing to dodge either.

Their duel continued, and the battle around them raged on a stalemate. It almost seemed as though the fight between Lucius and Alaric was tied to their respective forces, and whichever of them fell first would be the deciding factor.

Finally, with a twist of his blade, Alaric severed the whip from Lucius' hand, the creature writhing on the ground as blood poured from the wound. Lucius roared, his blade moving forward quickly, finding purchase in Alaric's gut. The blade went past the armor and into his flesh, rupturing his intestines and causing the space marine a great deal of pain.

Lucius laughed, "Now you see, Alaric, Chaos is inevitable."

Alric grunted, dropping his own blade and reaching up to grab the Laer blade. Lucius blinked in surprise as Alaric pulled the sword deeper into him, the point coming out the other side. Alaric grunted a painful sound that was not fit for an Adeptus Astartes, but one that came from a human nonetheless.

"Say hello to your _gods_." Alaric spat.

Lucius looked down and saw the grenade Alaric held, his eyes widening a fifth of a second before the explosion rocked the battlefield, the Astartes sized frag grenade sending them both flying in opposite directions, the Laer blade still lodged in Alaric's body.

[-]

Michael blinked in shock at the duel he just witnessed, and he wasn't the only one. Each side of the battle seemed to pause at the sight as if taking a minute to simply comprehend what had happened. The chaos forces recovered first, quickly running to attack the stunned Imperials. Michael barely wasted a second, however, rushing to where Alaric's body had landed. The space marine armor had shrapnel buried in the adamantium plate, the cerimite layer having been completely destroyed.

Michael cursed, reaching to try and remove his helmet. Undoing the latch, he succeeded in his goal, only to see Alaric cough up a glob of blood.

"Alaric! Oh… oh no…"

Michael looked at the wound where the sword jutted out. There was almost no blood, but Michael knew even space marine biology would have a hard time dealing with that kind of wound.

"Who was that? Who did this to you?" Michael asked.

Alaric lifted one hand weakly, pointing to the other side of the battlefield, "Lucius, the Eternal." he said, before slumping back to the ground. Michael's eyes widened before he looked in the direction Alaric pointed. There, among the corpses of Eldar, guardsman, and cultist, stood a champion of the dark prince.

The loyalist Marine's breath was barely audible but ragged all the same. Cursing the dark gods, Michael stood up and gripped the Lear Blade. Now that he knew who the owner was, he was reasonably sure what the sword was, and how dangerous it could be. Pulling with all his strength, he removed it from Alaric's body, the space marine grunting in pain. Michael lifted the silver blade, stained red with blood, and looked at with no small amount of awe.

This weapon had turned one of the Emperor's own sons to chaos, and while the daemon that once inhabited the gem in it's pommel no longer resided there, Michael couldn't help but shiver at the fact that he was holding it.

"Impressive, is it not?" A booming voice said.

Michael whipped around to see Lucius standing less than a hundred feet away. Too far for Michael to do any damage, but more than close enough for Lucius to get in close and snap the mortal's neck.

"This thing killed a Primarch and turned the other to chaos. I don't think 'impressive' quite covers it." Michael said, hoping he could stall the chaos lord.

Lucius chuckled, "I see the Imperium has not totally fallen into ignorance."

"Oh it definitely has, I'm just the exception to the rule."

This time, Lucius let a laugh, "You truly are to smart for your own good, aren't you? You should join me! Join Slaanesh! Taste the unending pleasure and stimulation the dark prince has to offer!"

"And get raped by barbed wire tentacles? No thanks. I'd rather take my chances with the corpse."

Michael's response caused Lucius to pause, "The corpse? So you acknowledge your Emperor's own death?" he asked.

Michael shrugged, backing up a few steps and bringing the Laer blade to bare, "I'll be honest, the Emperor's not a god, and he never claimed to be one. Good on him I guess, but even as a corpse he has enough power to run the golden throne."

Lucius tsked, rolling his shoulders, "So be it, I suppose." and he charged forward.

Michael ducked, barely avoiding the power armored fist flying at him. He thrust the sword upward, but the lack of force behind it kept it from penetrating the armor, instead just scraping against it. Michael used his momentum to roll forward and twist around just in time to dodge yet another fist. This time Michael swung wide, telegraphing his attack terribly but giving himself some much-needed breathing room.

Lucius backed off somewhat, laughing, "You have sparred with Astartes before it would seem." He said, watching as Michael shot a glance at Alaric's body, causing Lucius to look at him, "Ah, a mentor perhaps? Someone-"

He was cut off what Michael dashed forward, thrusting upwards only Lucius to bat the sword to the side and grab Michael by the neck, lifting him upwards, "I must say, you at least know how to distract your opponent. A pity you didn't succeed."

But before Lucius could do anything, snap Michael's neck, decapitate him, crush him, or any other painful death, a single las-bolt impacted his pauldron. Lucius paused, his eyes turning to face what or who had shot him. It wasn't a guardsman, it wasn't an aspect warrior, it was a little girl, barely four years old.

She was shaking horribly. The tips of her pointed ears felt cold, and her hair was a mess, matted with dirt and blood, but the little Eldar girl stood there, the las-pistol Michael had given her pointed at a man a dozen times her size.

Lucius tilted his head in confusion, tossing Michael to the ground, knocking out any air left in his lungs, and began walking toward the girl. Lucius walked towards her, his steps clanging against the wraithbone. The girl pulled the trigger again, the shot barely registering on Lucius' chest.

Lucius laughed. She pulled the trigger again. Again, it didn't even scratch his armor.

"What do you hope to accomplish!?" Lucius yelled, a massive grin splitting his face, "What could you _possibly_ think you could do!?"

"Stay away from him!" she yelled, causing Lucius to stop in his tracks.

He turned to look at Michael, rolled over, gasping for breath, "You came here to protect _him_!?" Lucius asked, his booming laughter echoing through the craftworld. He soon stood over her, his form looming, "I will tell you now girl, I will kill you, and then, I will kill-"

A sword, curved and silver emerged from his throat, blood pouring out of the wound. Lucius choked, his grin never leaving his face as he gripped his neck. Gripping the back of his armor, Michael drove the blade further with his metal arm.

" _Adrenalin's a bitch,"_ he whispered into Lucius's ear, before jumping off of the space marines back as he stumbled backward. Lucius stumbled, tripping over the corpse of a cultist and falling backward. The force of his fall drove the Laer blade the rest of the way in, decapitating him, his severed head falling to the ground and rolling away, the massive, demonic grin never leaving it.

Michael's shoulders sagged, and he almost collapsed right then and there, if it hadn't been for the thirty-five pounds slamming into his leg and hugging him. Michael kneeled down, picking her up and returning the gesture. Tears ran down her face as she cried into his shoulder.

"It's going to be okay… I'm alright," he said.

She sniffled, "I'm sorry I left… I didn't want you dead like mother."

Michael's eyes teared up, and he hugged her tighter. Both of them were covered in blood, but neither cared. With the death of their leader, the forces of chaos broke, and the guardsmen and Aeldari rallied, wiping the rest of them out. Michael and Kiara just sat there, hugging and crying.

[-]

 **A/N: Ok… so, this chapter was an experience to write. To be honest, I actually wrote most of it in the past three days. Finishing high school will give you a lot of motivation doncha know. Anyway, hope this chapter lives up to expectations, as I've had this plot bunny in my head since chapter 8. I have even more plot bunnies, but this was the one I wanted to get into the story the most.**

 **Also, Endgame just came out, and I will say this right now: It was so worth it. If you haven't seen it yet, GO WATCH IT! And if you have seen it, DON'T SPOIL IT!**

 **Anywho, for those of you reading on FF, reviews!**

 **Specter343:** No spoilers, but yes, it's well on its way.

 **Blaze1992:** Well, here's this.


	16. Chapter 16

**996.M41 Aurorum III**

Richard's shoulders slumped as he saw Michael approaching him, covered in blood and carrying the little Eldar girl in his arms. Behind him, he dragged a space marine sized sword, the tip dragging on the ground creating a metallic, grinding noise that was rather unpleasant to listen to. He stopped in front of Richard, and the guardsman managed to get a good look at his commanding officer's face.

Bags hung underneath his eyes, his entire body was covered in grime, and his uniform was soaked in blood. Dirt and dried blood also caked his left arm, bits of grime falling from the metal whenever it shifted. His hair was a mess, the shoulder-length brown now matted red with blood and grime. The girl wasn't much better, though there was significantly less blood on her.

"Sir… I suppose you're responsible for the enemy's moral collapsing?" Richard asked, earning a sigh from Michael.

"Yeah, you'll find the corpse of one Lucius the Eternal out there… along with Alaric." Michael explained, a permanent frown on his face.

Many of the guardsmen running back and forth stopped for a second when they overheard what Michael said, "Lord Alaric is… dead?" Richard asked.

"Unless you can survive being stabbed in the gut with a cursed sword-" He hefted the Laer blade, "-or having a grenade blow up in your face, yeah. Last I checked he wasn't breathing."

Richard muttered a prayer to the Emperor and ordered some men to go retrieve Alaric's body. Sure enough, the space marine no longer breathed. His right hand was completely gone, destroyed by the grenade blast, and shrapnel from said grenade had penetrated multiple places in his armor. Much of his armor was ruined beyond repair, but Michael insisted on keeping it, along with Alaric's power sword.

When Calivar saw what had happened to his gene-cousin, he didn't even say a word, deciding to remain in a quiet, cold hatred. He had come close to joining the forces that killed Alaric, and that same space marine had pulled him away from that fate.

When Jarod arrived, he had a similar reaction, only this time he ordered several medics to assist Calivar in retrieving Alaric's gene-seed, in order to hopefully return it to the Astral Winds chapter. Even though Calivar was not an apothecary, he knew enough that he and the medics were able to succeed at the task of recovering the gene-seed.

While all of this was going on, Michael sat to the side, the Eldar girl refusing to let go of him.

"Look, we both need to get cleaned up alright?" Michael tried, only getting a shake of the head from the girl. Her arms clung to his neck, and even if she was only a small child, Michael didn't want to remove her for fear of hurting her. Many other Guardsmen and Eldar warriors had tried coaxing her off of him, but no one succeeded.

Eventually, Salah and Elirom came by to see what the situation was. Salah was covered in bandages, and out of her armor, wearing standard Aeldari robes instead, though she still carried a power sword at her waist.

"And what do we have here?" Elirom said aloud, his tone stern, if a bit coy.

Michael sighed, "I've been trying to get her to go get cleaned up for the better part of an hour," He said, shrugging, "Nothing anyone says, human or Eldar, seems to make her listen."

Kiara tightened her grip around Michael's neck as if to punctuate her objective.

"Why do you not remove her by force?" Salah asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Michael and Elirom both stared at her, the latter with a raised eyebrow and the former with a look that said 'are you stupid?'

"... you're not very good with kids, are you?" Michael asked.

Salah stiffened slightly. No, she could not say she was 'good' with children. They were so rare amongst the Aeldari that she rarely spent any time with them, "She is disobeying the orders of her betters, for that she must be disciplined." Salah said numbly.

Kiara flinched, hiding her face in Michael's shoulder, why Michael's jaw simply dropped, "Are you mentally retarded?" he asked, his face one of pure shock and seriousness, "She just stood up to traitor space marine! Not to mention watching her mom's Spirit stone get destroyed! If anything she deserves the Star of Terra for what she's done at her age!" He almost yelled.

Elirom placed a hand on Salah's shoulder, "I believe Michael is right, in this regard Exarch. She is young, and has been through more than any child of her age should have." He said, before turning to Kiara, leaving Salah blinking.

" _Child, what is your name?"_ Elirom asked in moonspeak.

" _I am Kiara,"_ she answered.

" _Well, Kiara, I believe it would be best for yourself and Commander Michael to separate for a while, the two of you-"_

" _No!"_ she interrupted him, making him blink in surprise, _"He stops the bad people! He stopped the ones who serve she-who-thirsts! I will not let him go again! I will not let him die like mother and father!"_

Elirom paused. When translated to low gothic, the girl sounded much older than she was, but to an Eldar… she was acting _extremely_ childish, almost… humanly so. He wondered if being in contact with Michael had affected her mind somehow, but dismissed the idea immediately. As the guardsman had pointed out before, she had just stood up to not only a traitor Astartes but a champion of she-who-thirsts.

He would not blame her for being childish, and now that he knew what her motivation was, he came to a decision that would be… unpopular, even with the most liberal of Eldar. Her parents were dead, by her own admission, her mother recently so. If that was the case, then she likely would latch on to the one she trusted most… which was, ironically, a human.

" _Kiara, if you let go, and get yourself cleaned, then I promise that you can spend as much time with_ Michael _as you wish."_ Elirom offered.

Kiara looked up at the farseer, _"Promise?"_

Elirom stood, a smile on his face, _"On my word as farseer of Craftworld Aurorum III, I promise."_

Kiara slowly, hesitantly loosened her grip, around Michael's neck, giving him one last hug before allowing herself to be led off by another Eldar, stealing glances back towards Michael as she went. Michael waved, a soft smile on his own face.

"So, I don't speak moonspeak, but I'm pretty sure I heard my name in there somewhere, do names just not translate well or something?" Michael asked.

"I assured her that were she to let go of you and get cleaned, she could spend as much time with you as she wished."

Michael's eyes narrowed, "... You didn't lie to her did you?" he asked.

Elirom sighed, "I know my race has-"

"No," Michael interrupted, "Not your race, I know your races reputation, I'm referring to you specifically. Farseer's are notorious for lying to get what they want, even to their own kind. Now, you've been trustworthy so far, but this is the kind of situation where you benefit from lying." Michael explained, making Elirom raise an eyebrow.

"I assure you, I did not lie to her. Contrary to my profession's reputation, apparently, I am not fond of lying." the farseer explained.

Michael frowned for a second before nodded and standing to his feet. He turned to look at Salah and grinned when he saw her expression. Jaw on the ground, check. Frothing at the mouth, double check. Eyes looking like they were trying to stab him to death, triple check.

"You… you cannot be serious farseer…" Salah asked in disbelief.

Elirom nodded, "I am Exarch. Michael has proven himself more than capable of protecting Kiara, and I believe it would be beneficial to have her spend time with him for the foreseeable future."

Salah's jaw remained slack, and while normally would have found this hilarious, he grimaced about what he would need to tell Elirom.

"... there might be… a complication with that,"

[-]

The conversation with Elirom had… not gone well, that much Michael was certain of. Regardless, he was glad to be back on _The Emperor's Boot_. It was calm, for as long as such a feeling would last. Jarod probably wouldn't be happy about Michael's situation, but Michael didn't want to think about that at the moment, instead choosing to get himself cleaned up.

Stepping into his personal quarters - being the commanding officer of Jarod's guardsmen had its perks - he walked into the bathroom and began stripping the blood-soaked clothing off. His metal arm was next, and he carefully removed it, setting the prosthetic to the side. Reaching into one of the cabinets, he attached a custom plate designed to keep the mechanical and digital parts of his prosthetic from being destroyed.

Stepping into the shower, he cranked the hot water up to maximum, feeling the scalding water run through his hair, the matted brown reaching his upper back. The water turned a disgusting reddish-brown color, the blood and dirt coming off easily enough. He sighed an exhausted sound that made him question if he was really cut out for command.

It had been months since his first time commanding troops, and even though he hadn't had any breakdowns as he had back then, it still never sat right in his mind that he was more often than not commanding soldiers to go to their deaths. Interestingly enough, he'd never felt guilty about killing any of the Chaos cultists, a fact that had worried him at first. Killing another human being was always something that Michael never thought he would have to do. At least, before he'd found his way into the 41st millennium.

He hadn't killed any humans back when he and Jarod had first come into this universe. Jarod and Richard did of course, and while Richard was a hardened veteran at this point, Jarod seemed to be coping through alcohol. Not the best option, but it was something that seemed to work at the very least.

Michael had killed his first human back when they'd first discovered the craftworld. He hadn't really thought about it, but he realized that he hadn't felt anything when killing the cultists. He almost thought it was the adrenalin of the moment, but even after the battle, he still didn't feel a thing. He wondered if something was wrong with him, but again, watching the men under his command get shot made his insides roll.

So he wasn't a sociopath, that's good. Still, it made him think; was his hatred of chaos what kept him from feeling bad about it? Granted he wasn't dogmatic in his hatred like many in the Imperium were, but just as Gaunt had said 'the best defense against chaos is an armor of contempt.'

Very few who truly hated chaos ever fell willingly. Even Mortarian, a daemon prince of Nurgle utterly hated the position he had found himself in. Really, if Horus hadn't convinced him to turn to chaos and the quote 'worship of Nurgle' as early as he did, then Mortarian might have remained a loyalist. Whether he could be redeemed or not was another question, but Michael doubted the Imperium would let him come back.

Regardless, Michael's hatred of Chaos was something that was rooted deep in his own mind, and it was not something that would be dislodged easily. Yes, Tzeentch had helped Jarod by unlocking his psychic powers, but that didn't mean he was good. Change by its very nature was neither good nor evil, making Tzeentch neutral at best. Slaanesh clearly had it out for them, having at least influenced two attacks on Aurorum III.

Khorne and Nurgle had yet to make their stance on the two travelers existence apparent yet, but Michael would be rather surprised in the two of them didn't end up clashing with them at some point in the future.

Turning off the water, Michael put on some clean, dry clothes and started to brush his long, thick hair. Knots found their way into it in a dozen places, making it painful to brush, but once he was finished he managed to tie it back into a wolf's-tail. He chuckled at the name Jarod had insisted on calling it. The difference between a pony-tail and a wolf's-tail was minimal at best, but Jarod said that if they ever met the space wolves, they would call him a milksop if he called his hairstyle anything but a wolf's-tail.

His beard had gotten rather long as well, so he made the effort to trim it. The dark brown, almost black hair reminded him of Captain America's look in the old Avengers movies. Granted Chris Evans was blonde, but the similarity was there.

Thinking about the films made Michael chuckle. How much had he changed since he had come from Earth? Back then he was just a twenty-year-old working a full-time job who had a knack for writing. He spent most of his free time playing video-games, writing or reading fanfiction, or watching movies. Emperor knows he wasn't the man he was now.

His thoughts wandered to the man Captain America was. Honorable, optimistic, and probably one of the most morally straight people in that universe. He would probably hate the 41st Millennium. He'd probably hate it, but he would also try and fix it. Could Michael do that? Could he do what one of the legends of old Terra would do?

[-]

"You WHAT!?" Jarod yelled as he slammed his hands across the table, his eyes wide and filled with shock, awe, and no small amount of worry.

"I just told you! I killed Lucius the Eternal! The guy who has a really bad habit of body snatching?" Michael explained again.

"No, I heard you the first time, I just… How!? And why you of all people!" Jarod lamented as he reached underneath his desk for some alcohol, only for his hand to be slapped aside by Michael.

"No, you need to be sober for this. How do we deal with this?" He asked.

Jarod leaned back into his chair, considering the situation. Michael had killed a being that, within an undetermined amount of time, would act like a chest burster and mutate him into Lucius' original form. At worst, Michael had hours, at best he had a month.

"The only options I can think of are you committing suicide - which I am _not_ allowing - or locking yourself in an Isolation cell until we figure out what to do." He offered, "And have you told Elirom about this? Or anyone else for that matter?"

"I explained it to Elirom and Salah, the Howling Banshee Exarch, and the two of them started arguing with each other. Elirom seems convinced I have some kind of role left to play, but Salah wanted to kill me then and there."

"She does know that if she kills you Lucius' soul would just transfer to her right?" Jarod asked.

Michael shrugged, "I said as much, but I don't think she was paying that close of attention. Anyway, Elirom basically suggested the same thing you did, save for the fact that he left out the suicide part."

Jarod sighed, "Well, I guess we could go with that… anything you want us to do in the meantime?" he asked.

"Comune with the Aeldari gods maybe? Cegorach would probably find my situation hilarious, enough to try and stop it maybe… Aside from that, you seem to have some kind of connection with Tzeentch, though knowing that warp-squid he'd probably just let Lucius do his thing. Loving change for the sake of it and all that." Michael mused.

Jarod hummed, taking in Michael's suggestions. The issue with Cegorach was that they would need to find Harlequins to even _begin_ to figure out how to summon/talk to him, and those were about as easy to find as a Khornate with a World Peace Nobel prize. Well, maybe easier than that, but not by much.

"Well, I guess your getting put into Maximum Security. Let's hope I can figure something out…"

Michael chuckled darkly, "Yeah, just make sure I get visitors every few hours."

After their conversation, Michael explained his situation with Kiara, and Jarod once again slumped. The girl had gotten attached to Michael, and if he ended up getting possessed by Lucius, then the one person she seemed to really trust would be dead.

"I'm going to see her in the next hour or so for sure, but I have no idea how or what I should tell her. I mean, she's basically glued herself to me, and… and I don't know if I can just outright tell her she might not ever see me again." Michael lamented.

Jarod sighed, putting a hand on Michael's shoulder, "Honestly? Just don't tell her anything. Tell her that you're going away, or that you're not going to be able to see her again. Or heck, just tell her the truth. Eldar minds don't age the same way humans do." he explained.

"I still don't like it…" Michael said with a sigh.

Jarod grimaced, "Neither do I, but do we really have a choice?"

Michael shrugged, "Not really, no. I guess… I guess I'll just go see her, figure it out as I go."

[-]

 **A/N: Well… Here's chapter 16. Certainly not the monster chapter 15 was, but I think a chapter like this is quite needed. Something Aluvartyo on space battles said made me realize that the pacing of this story has been utter crap, so I'm taking the time to slow down and pad out the characters a bit.**

 **Next chapter will be a bit more r &r, so there's that. Next chapter will **_**hopefully**_ **be done in a week if I can keep on writing like I am. Then again I'm roofing full-time now, having graduated high school and all that. So, I may be a bit too exhausted to write. Still, I'm having fun with this story and I don't plan on stopping any time soon.**

 **Reviews~!**

 **Reikson:** __Very true, and I'm well aware of the consequences. And so are Jarod and Michael, as this chapter shows.

 **Specter343:** Shpelign si haordd.

 **Mashot tito:** I'm well aware, and so is everyone else.

 **MattKennedy:** Oh she did, the adorable little cinnamon roll.


	17. Chapter 17

**986.M41 Aurorum III**

"And what does this symbol mean?" Michael asked, pointing on the piece of paper both he and Kiara were looking at.

"That… that's a C." She said, guessing.

"That's right! Ok, next one,"

The two went on, both teaching each other their native languages. Kiara taught Michael basic words and phrases in Aeldari, while Michael did his best to teach her low gothic. Many Eldar walked past, sneering at first before they noticed Elirom standing behind them, a dangerous look on his face.

The previously sneering Eldar soon left Michael and Kiara to their activities.

 _"Can you understand now?"_ Kiara asked.

Michael wrinkled his nose, _"Think to Understand?"_ He said, his pronunciation atrocious and his accent sounding like someone who'd never spoken the language before. Granted, he hadn't, but Kiara giggled anyway.

Michael laughed at himself, enjoying the time they had been able to spend together. It gave him a warm feeling, being able to help someone so young find joy even in the grim dark future of the 41st Millennium.

Even before he'd come to this time, he'd loved being around kids her age, and being able to put a smile on her face reminded him of the simpler times, when he wasn't about to get possessed by a champion of Slaanesh.

Kiara, the perceptive little minx that she was, hugged him when she noticed his smile falter. He smiled, returning the gesture.

"Why can't you stay?" She asked.

Michael sighed, "I messed up… stopped the wrong bad guy, and now… now they're going to try and turn me into one of them."

She hugged him tighter, her small hands gripping the fabric of his uniform. Outside of their small room, Elirom watched with a solemn look on his face. He knew better than most that the dark gods were capable of causing wounds that would never heal. Leaving scars that would never fade.

He cursed his own sense of precognition. Was he wrong? Was Michael truly doomed to be turned into a servant of she-who-thirsts? He had denied the possibility at first. Saying that he had looked into their future and seen a hundred battles, a hundred victories. Then, he looked forward again.

Death, destruction, betrayal… all of these were at the forefront of his visions, and he couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. What had he missed? How could he have missed it? He wasn't some apprentice seer, he had been a farseer for over five hundred years, and would continue to be one as long as he lived.

Yet, why was he so afraid of the fact that something had changed?

Michael had asked him if he had lied to Kiara and stated that Farseer's had a reputation. Yes, he knew they did, even among his own people. And yet Michael felt no reason to bring it up until the life and well-being of a child was at stake. He knew that in all likelihood Elirom would deceive them. Granted, he did not, but that was beside the point. They appeared to trust him.

And that was what made Elirom think. Had they really trusted him? Or were they ready to turn on him as soon as he would have shown his true colors? The thought did not sit well with the Farseer, and he dismissed the thought. Whatever doubts the two of them may have had were well and truly gone at this point, considering everything that they had gone through together.

Still, it did not soothe his mind at the thought of Michael being possessed. Was Michael so resigned to the fact that he was unwilling to even try? Or did he and Jarod have some kind of trick up their sleeves? He was torn from his thoughts when he felt Jarod's presence approaching. His mind was hidden, not an odd thing in and of itself, but the ice cold mental wall that surrounded his mind suggested that he was rather… angry, if nothing else.

Unlike so many others, Jarods rage was quiet, reserved, and invisible to anyone who could not read his mind. It worried Elirom, and he was under no illusion that Jarod was unlikely to be receptive to any encouragement he could give.

"How is he?" Jarod asked, his voice… not hollow, but not filled with the jovial tone his words normally carried.

Elirom let out a sigh he didn't even realize he had pent up, "He is… coping, I suppose. He has taken comfort in spending time with Kiara, and while many Aeldari has tried to intervene, I have warded them off at the very least." He explained.

Jarod nodded, "That's good. I wanted to ask, though… do you have any Harlequins aboard Aurorum III?" He asked.

Elirom blinked in surprise. Harlequins? What would Jarod want with them? Yes, they were skilled warriors and dancers, but besides their direct connection to Cegorach-

Elirom's eyes widened at the thought. Jarod couldn't possibly wish to commune with Cegorach, the god of laughter, could he? "What would you want with them?" he asked.

Jarod grimaced, "We have so little time before Lucius takes advantage and possesses Michael. It could be a few hours, or more likely, a few weeks, but I want to use that time to try… something. It's a long shot, but we have to at least try."

"You want to speak to the god of Laughter. You wish to bargain Michael's soul with Cegorach." Elirom stated, not questioned. He saw the look on Jarod's face, heard his tone of voice, there was no other conclusion that could be drawn.

Jarod nodded slowly, "As close to a god as he may be, the Emperor isn't powerful enough to do anything about Lucius with the resources we have access to. The chaos gods are out of the question. Slaanesh would only laugh, Khorne would probably force him to commit mass genocide, Nurgle's in a similar vein and Tzeentch would try to get him to do something utterly pointless and impossible. That leaves the gods of the Eldar. Khaine is currently splintered up into the Infinity Circuit, and Isha is currently being held by Nurgle. That leaves Cegorach, and as much as I hate to admit it, he's the only one who might be able to change Michael's situation for the better."

Elirom was left grimacing at Jarod's thought process. He knew better than anyone that what he said was true, but attempting to contact the god of laughter was not… wise, for lack of a better word. Though he may be revered and worshipped by many, he is seen as eccentric and… distant, at best by most Eldar.

"I do not believe there are any Harlequins aboard Aurorum III, Jarod, though I must attempt to dissuade you from your line of thought. Powerful and wise he may be, Cegorach is not a god you should go searching for." Elirom warned, "Even with Michael's life at stake, I find it difficult to believe the laughing god would do more than take amusement from your situation."

"Cegorach is the _Eldar_ god of laughter, Elirom. Are you aware of what that makes him to us human's?" He asked, giving the Farseer a steeled look, "The god of horror."

Elirom blinked, finding himself quite unable to follow Jarod's immediate line of logic.

"What do most Eldar find amusing Elirom? Their foes in pain, irony, or maybe just sarcasm?" He continued, "I won't pretend to know, but if the Drukhari is anything to go by then Cegorach is definitely not my first choice. If Isha weren't trapped by Nurgle, I would have gone to her first. Yes, she is an Eldar goddess, but she's the goddess of life and fertility correct? Even she would be sympathetic at the very least."

Elirom finally understood. Human's were so unlike Eldar, far more than he at first realized. Their kind did not enjoy the same fruits and niceties that they did and by all accounts, he was right. Cegorach would be more akin to some kind of eldritch horror to a human than a bumbling fool of a god that he based his appearance off of.

"Why then do you wish to seek his counsel, even if he is your last viable option? Do you not fear for your own sanity?" he asked.

Jarod gave a subtle smirk, one that made Elirom unsure what to think, "Cegorach isn't the only thing the Harlequins would help me find. He isn't even the first. Where do you think he lives, after all, a caravan?"

The Black Library.

"No," Elirom said. No, demanded. "The Black Library is forbidden, even to us. Do you think the Harlequins would simply let you in? Even if they took you and Michael to speak with Cegorach, do you honestly think they would let you anywhere near the Black Library?"

Jarod sighed, "Honestly? Probably not. It would take a miracle, and those don't tend to happen in this day and age. No, I don't see them doing that, but I do see a hope that Cegorach might make them let me. I'm powerful, way more powerful than I really have any right to be. You don't think Cegorach would recognize that?"

"Oh, he would, of that, I can assure you. But he is a _god,_ they do not play by the same rules that we do. If he so chose, he could possess an Aeldari and make them one of the most powerful beings in the galaxy, someone that could undoubtedly surpass you." Elirom pointed out.

Jarod grimaced, turning back to watch Michael and Kiara. Michael was explaining ancient Terran history now, and Kiara seemed to be soaking it all up as if she were hearing some kind of bedtime story.

"It'd be worth the risk."

[-]

Calivar stood over the coffin that held Alaric's body. Inside one of the many airlocks' aboard the Emperor's boot, himself and several servitors prepared the space marines funeral. It would be private, silent, and only Calivar would be present to witness the coffin be ejected into the void of space. Alaric died far too soon.

Alaric placed a hand on his cousin's coffin and closed his eyes. "Oh Emperor of mankind, as you sit upon your Golden Throne, watching the Galaxy Eternally, I beg that you Guide Alaric underneath your wing. Watch over his soul, and welcome him into your fold." he prayed.

Though the Emperor was not a god, even in his eyes, he was still powerful. And even in his decrepit state, he would still watch over the Imperium, guarding the souls of loyal humans, be they guardsmen, citizen, or Astartes.

Stepping out of the airlock, the door closed behind him. He turned to the cogitator and opened the airlock to the void of space. The air inside rushed out, but the coffin stayed put. Pressing another button, the coffin detached, and the added thrusters began moving it into the depths of space.

"Your duty has ended, cousin. Sleep now, and leave the rest to me."

Gripping the power sword that hung at his belt, he turned to leave the room. He stepped out into the hall and made his way to his quarters. Many mortals passed him, avoiding the cerimite clad warrior as best they could. Calivar wore a solemn look on his face, one that spoke of grief, anger, and a tangle of other emotions.

Stepping into his room, he placed his helmet onto his desk and looked at the easel that had taken from Alaric's room. They were not Blood Angles, but even they had a talent for art. Alaric was no exception. Upon the canvas, an unfinished painting stood. At the centerpiece stood Jarod, kneeling before… someone, Calivar didn't know. The painting was unfinished, and it showed.

The figure was clad in white, with light green's and blue's mixed in with their clothing. The image was clearly female, and judging by their hight - even compared to Jarod's relatively small size - she was at least as tall as a space marine, if not more so. Picking up a brush, Calivar continued the painting.

He may not know who the woman was, but Alaric clearly felt as if she was worthy to paint. Perhaps he had seen her in a vision, perhaps Jarod had revealed a part of his past to him. Calivar didn't know, but even if he couldn't finish the painting yet, he would not leave Alaric's work unfinished.

[-]

Matthias stood, looking in awe at the sight of the power armor before him. The twisted metal, the ruined paint, the marking's borne by a space marine. This machinery was holy, blessed by the Techpriests of a craftworld long forgotten. And he was the one who was to attempt to repair the irreparable.

This would normally take months to do right, and even then, that was with established tech-marines working on it. For a mere Magos like Matthias, it could possibly take him years. Yet Jarod for some reason felt confidence in his abilities, and even Calivar had given his blessing for him to attempt such a project. And so, Matthias began planning.

Adamantium, Cerimite, and a thousand other components needed to be gathered, none of which he had access to. Still, he would do his best to repair what damage had been done. He would start by cleaning the soot, grime, and dried blood from the armor. The process would take nearly two days alone. Next, he would strip the torn and damaged bits of metal from the assembled whole, leaving only the most intact parts behind.

Using the inadequate forges aboard the _Emperor's Boot_ , Matthias planned to melt down the ruined pieces of Adamantium and began to reforge them into the pieces he needed. The armor would be incomplete, yes, but incomplete was better than destroyed completely.

He used the material's he had to repaint what parts of the Armor that he had, coating them in black and teal, with the blue wind-like symbol of the chapter. The blank, red-eyed helmet stared at any who looked at it. Remarkably, the helmet was left relatively undamaged.

After so much planning, Matthias paused to look at what he had accomplished. The armor would be cleaned and repainted, the minor bit's of damage to the chest piece and pauldrons would be fully repaired, and only the limbs, lower torso, and circuitry remained. Such a task would be an undertaking for Matthias, but he swore.

He took an oath to the machine god that day. To the Omnissiah. He would repair the armor of Alaric, Adeptus Astartes of the Astral Winds chapter. Of that, there was no doubt.

[-]

 **986.M41 Cellos IV**

General Gaz sighed as he and the Inquisitor sat down in their personal meeting room. Many people expected the truce between the Imperials and Necron's to break down the second the rogue trader and his merry band had left… those people were going to be very disappointed. Both faction's leaders had gone to great lengths to preserve to peace that they had acquired.

Nevha had her forces appear like living and non-hostile beings, even though the only thing that really changed was their targeting programming. The Imperial's had it far more difficult.

Many of the guardsmen had tried to instigate a fight, and even though officially the commissars had kept them in line, many of the less disciplined marshal leaders had turned a blind eye to the actions of some of the more radical men. To her credit, the Phaeron never took offense to the actions, rarely even moving to her own troop's defense. This was mostly due to her knowing that any hostile action she might take would cause irreparable damage, whereas whatever damage the Imperials did would be superficial at best. It helped that she had complete control over her own troops as well.

"Even the Eldar would have given up on a truce like this by now. Even if one of their farseers demanded them to keep trying, they'd probably have just given up and tossed him out an airlock and then shot us." Inquisitor Karev said as he slumped into his chair.

Gaz chuckled, "At least the Necron doesn't plan on using us to destroy something even they couldn't. I guess Jarod wasn't kidding when he explained they were probably the most reasonable race in the galaxy."

Loathed as he may be to admit it, Karev was rather fond of the Rogue Trader. Given time and experience, and perhaps a few happy accidents, Jarod would climb the ladders of the Inquisition in no time. He probably wouldn't reach the title of Lord within record time or anything like that, but he'd probably be one of the few sane inquisitor's out there.

"What are we supposed to do with the ones that threw the explosives?" Gaz asked, referring to the latest incident. A pair of young guardsmen, younger than twenty years old if Gaz remembered right, had stolen a melta bomb from the armories and lobbed it into the Necron camp beside their own, damaging the terrain as well as a few warriors. Nezha herself had, as always, not retaliated, and instead suggested that the two men be reprimanded for their actions.

Reprimanded.

If they had done that to a space marine encampment, the two of them would have been shot on sight. As would it have been if it was any other ally to the Astra Militarum. And yet Nevha Cleo, a Xeno and a leader of a race of technologically almighty warriors merely suggested they be _reprimanded._

Perhaps he had grown senile in his age, but even Gaz knew that such a prospect was far from a normal response. It was very likely that Jarod had asked her to be polite and too not show any form of hostilities towards them. Then again, whenever he spoke to her she always seemed… kinder, than any political or military leader he had ever known, so it may have simply been her own method of madness.

Reaching toward his cogitator, he began typing up the report he would send back to high command. Fifteenth times a charm, maybe he would actually send it this time.

[-]

 **A/N: Phew! Another chapter is done! My apologies for this taking longer than expected. Writing is very difficult when life is a thing that happens. Anyway, if anyone's disappointed in the lack of action in this chapter, don't worry. While it won't be the kind of action you might expect from the 41st millennium, the next chapter will have some.**


	18. Chapter 18

**986.M41 Aurorum III**

Michael waved to Kiara as the shuttle doors closed. The two of them had spent the better part of the past three days together, sometimes just talking, sometimes playing games, and other times she would fall asleep in his lap, exhausted from the day's activities. She always hated having to say goodbye.

Michael had explained that one day, he might not return. He had kept from explaining who Lucius was or what he did - a four-year-old girl didn't need to hear any of that - but had explained what they were going to try to do to him. Jarod and Elirom had been spending the time granted to them furiously working to find some way to fix the mess, some way to kill Lucius once and for all.

Maybe it was just the effects of knowing his own death was imminent, but Michael had all but accepted what was happening to him. He certainly wouldn't turn down some kind of miracle, but until that happened, he wouldn't complain.

Stepping off the transport and onto the Emperor's Boot, Michael made his way to what was now considered his sleeping quarters. A simple room with a cot, toilet, sink, and mirror. Outside the room stood two guards - not to actually face whatever might to break out of the room, but to report if something tried. Granted Michael was only sleeping there, being able to travel about during the 'day.'

Michael tossed himself onto the cot, closing his eyes in order to get some sleep.

[-]

 _Thump. Thump. Thump._

Michael's heart was beating out of his chest. His breath was ragged. His limbs ached. He forced himself up, grunting from the effort. Looking to the side, he saw a silver blade laying on the ground. He reached for it, grabbing the weapon by the hilt. He forced himself to his feet, turning to face the one who had almost killed him.

" _Stay away from him!"_

He heard her voice call out. Her small, young, broken voice. He grunted in pain and lifted his eyes. There, in front of him, stood Lucius the Eternal with his back turned to him. The space marine held his arms open wide, saying something that Michael didn't hear. It didn't matter.

He was going to kill him… he didn't care what happened after that.

Dashing forward, he lept into the air and thrust the sword forward, only for Lucius to turn suddenly and swat the weapon to the side, sending Michael jerking to the ground. This wasn't how this was supposed… wait…

"Congratulations are in order, I suppose," Lucius said, his voice soothing and grating at the same time, "It's been a while since I've been killed by a guardsman."

Michael blinked. This wasn't the real world. This had already happened. "I've killed you already, haven't I?" he asked, forcing himself to his feet.

Lucius laughed, "Well, I thought that much was obvious. Now, if you don't mind, I think we've been talking long enough." he said, reaching his arm out. The Laer blade shot towards his hand, fitting perfectly into his palm.

Michael blinked.

The scene surrounding them changed. Instead of the ruined craftworld, they now stood inside Michael's cell. Lucius raised a curious eyebrow.

"Oh? Do you think this is somehow a better place for your demise?" Lucius asked.

Michael looked around, his breath settling into a steady rhythm. He was right, this was a dream. He blinked again.

The scenery changed again, this time to an island beach. A treeline to his right, an ocean to his left, and Lucius a hundred feet in front of him. Lucius' smile fell, and he glared at Michael as the guardsman's own smile spread across his face.

"Answer me this, Lucius the Eternal, what is a dream?"

Lucius' eyes went wide. It couldn't be, he couldn't possibly… but the look in Michael's eyes proved it. Michael grinned as he stepped backward - right off a cliff that hadn't been there just seconds before. Lucius tsk'd as he dashed forward after him and off the cliff himself. This wasn't the first time someone had realized what was going on, but it was the first time someone had seemed so… thrilled about such a fact.

Lucius angled his body towards Michaels form, willing himself to fall faster. Just as he was about to reach the guardsman, Michael turned around suddenly and allowed Lucius to see the large weapon held in his hands, before he felt the searing heat of plasma melting the flesh from his bones.

Screeching in pain, Lucius willed a pair of bat-like, scarred wings into existence to slow his fall and to get away from the guardsman. Meanwhile, Michael took the opportunity to change their location yet again, this time to a large, empty metal room. Lucius hovered a dozen meters away, seething as his charred flesh slowly regenerated itself.

This was _his_ realm. He was the one in control, not some lowly mortal guardsman!

Michael smiled as he let the plasma gun fade into non-existence. Dreams really were a wonderful thing. If you weren't conscious then they simply passed you by and you never even realized it, but if you were lucid… things became a lot more interesting.

"What's the matter, Lucius? Never had to deal with someone who's had a Lucid dream before?" he taunted. It may be tempting fate, but Michael actually felt he might have the upper hand as long as he/she/it didn't decide to intervene. Slaanesh may have given Lucius his power, but it had given power to an untold number of others, and not all of them were still alive.

"I will admit, dealing with someone like you is… rare, but you are far from the first. You may be more difficult to deal with than most, but you will fall, just like all the rest." Lucius declared as his skin finally stitched itself back together.

"See, that's something that's been bugging me," Michael said as he began conjuring up another creation. A suit of armor that wrapped its way around him colored in red and gold, "You seem so confident in your ability. You think you're invincible. Why is that? There was the time you realized you could beat your own Primarch in a one on one dual, but I don't think Slaanesh values you high enough to let you kill Fulgrim."

Lucius glared at the mortal as the final piece of armor clicked into place. How did he know his own thoughts from over ten thousand years ago? Lucius shook the thoughts from his mind - Clever as he may be, this guardsman would fall. Needed to fall.

"I am just a man after strength and thrill," He said with a grin, before his expression turned to a snarl, "And you're standing in my way."

Michael chuckled, "Bring it on then."

Lucius charged, his weapon surging forward faster than the naked eye could see, but Michael managed to parry it to the side with his forearm, lifting up his hand to blast Lucius in the chest, sending the Astartes flying backward. Lucius remained on his feet but didn't have any time to retaliate as Michael kept going, blasting him with bright beams of blue energy.

Lucius finally managed to roll out of the path of the beams, getting close enough to strike at one of Michael's legs. Michael managed to dodge the strike at the cost of redirecting his repulsors and jetting backward. Lucius used such an opportunity to continue with another strike, sending the blade stabbing towards Michael's abdomen. Instead of parrying the blade this time, Michael caught it, wrenching it out of Lucius' hands.

Laer blade in hand, Michael lifted the weapon high before bringing it down on his armored knee, shattering it. Lucius grunted in disappointment, but simply reached backward to summon another copy of his weapon. Oddly, Michael copied the gesture. Lucius barely dodged the flying hunk of metal that landed its way into Michael's hands, the silver hammer crackling with blue electricity.

'Where had a mere Guardsmen learned to conjure objects like that in a dream?' Lucius thought to himself as he felt his body mutate further, pinkish tentacles sprouting from his arms as they waved wildly about trying to find a victim to capture and violate.

Michael spun the hammer by a loop hanging from its pommel, before rocketing forward and smashing into Lucius, sending him flying into the metal wall. The champion of Slaanesh looked down at his chest to see his armor's chest piece bent inwards. Had this been real, he would likely have died from the impact of the hammer alone.

Lucius grunted in pain and lurched forward, sending his tentacles reaching to grasp at Michael's body. The guardsman knocked away a few of the offending limbs before one managed to grasp his left leg, lifting him high into the air, and allowing several other tentacles to find purchase. Eventually, they held him upside down, four tentacles for each limb as the rest tried to pry open his armor.

"Yeah no, I don't need to know where this is going," Michael snarked as he summoned another weapon. Dozens of panels in the walls opened to reveal loaded bolter turrets ready to strike the nearest enemy. They immediately locked on to the thrashing limbs and opened fire, blowing them into fleshy bits and releasing Michael.

Once free, Michael used his jets to right himself before conjuring a large, grey weapon the likes of which Lucius hadn't seen before. It began glowing, and at first, Lucius assumed it might just be a plasma weapon of some kind. Then he felt his entire being get boiled and ripped apart as a ball of argent energy was sent flying forward, obliterating any form of living tissue in its wake.

[-]

Jarod looked at Michael's sleeping form as he pondered the predicament they had found themselves in. Michael had fallen asleep fifteen hours ago, and since then had been incredibly restless. Medical scans revealed that he had a fever of what roughly translated to ninety-nine degrees Fahrenheit. The Imperial's didn't use the Fahrenheit scale of course, but Jarod could make an educated guess.

His brain activity was also off the chart's as well, with his pain receptors and cerebral cortex going haywire. Jarod had tried to psychically enter Michael's mind, but all he found was a solid wall that blocked him from entering. He wondered if this was what happened when Lucius started to take over…

[-]

"Check," Michael said as he moved his knight into place.

Lucius grunted, moving his own rook to capture the knight. For what seemed like the millionth time, another tentacle tried to penetrate the bubble shield that Michael had summoned.

"You know this would go a lot faster if you just stopped trying to take over my body right?" Michael asked as he moved his bishop.

"I'm stuck in your head until I kill you and get my own body back. It's not like I'll stop any time soon." Lucius explained as he captured a pawn.

When it became clear that Michael's imagination could halt any attack Lucius threw at him, the two had devolved into simply arguing over the situation. Lucius had tried to seduce Michael, but the dimensional traveler wasn't having any of it. They started fighting again, using more creative methods, sending armies towards each other as they tried to get the upper hand.

Eventually, they settled down and just decided to play chess.

"Where did you even learn such a game?" Lucius asked, "It is similar to regicide I will admit, but it seems so much… simpler."

Michael shrugged, "I grew up with it. Jarod's a heck of a lot better than I am at it, but I have to say I'm not all that bad."

The two of them continued to play for what felt like days. Michael didn't quite know how time dilation in dreams to reality worked, but even he started to wonder how long it had been.

"Checkmate." Michael declared as he moved his pawn right next to Lucius' king, "You want to play something else?"

Lucius sighed, slouching in the seat, "I would be lying if I didn't say this activity has become rather… boring."

"Well, let's play something else then. Or we can cover the topic that you seem so eager to avoid." Michael said, earning a groan from the Astartes.

"Again, I will not move in my beliefs. Slaanesh has given me strength! Power! Skill! More than I ever could have dreamed of under the Imperium's control." Lucius said again, before narrowing his eyes at Michael slightly, "And when did you shave?"

Michael blinked, holding up a mirror to his face. Sure enough, his face was cleanly shaven.

"Huh… well, I guess not everything I do is conscious." he said with a shrug, before looking up at the non-existent sun that came into view just so he could see it, "How long have we been in here?"

This time Lucius shrugged, "Time is an irrelevant concept in dreams. In the real world, it's probably been a few hours at most. In here though…" he paused, frowning slightly, "I'm not entirely sure. As you've seen we do not possess any kind of day-night cycle, so I can only guess. That being the case I would say we've been at it for about six months, perhaps longer."

Michael hummed, waving his hand to remove the table and game board from the dreamscape.

"Do you feel connected to Slaanesh right now?" Michael asked suddenly.

Lucius blinked. An odd question, but not an unexpected one. If he wanted to change the space marines thinking then he would have to try something that could shake ten thousand years worth of conviction, and as has been proven already, that is not an easy feat to accomplish. Still, Lucius would at least indulge him.

"I will be quite honest with you, I have not felt the call of the dark prince since I was killed by you. Perhaps it is an effect of being inside another's mind, perhaps it is simply how my ability works." Lucius explained.

"Well then… I guess that explains why he/she/it hasn't tried to intervene." Michael said with a light chuckle.

"He/she/it?" Lucius asked incredulously.

"A nickname Jarod and I have come up with. Well, we didn't come up with it but it works all the same." Michael explained.

"I see… such a title is not unwarranted I suppose." Lucius said with a chuckle. He looked around, seeing the large, white landscape that Michael had conjured into his mind, "Your soul is quite spacious."

"Well, you of all people would know. I killed you after all, and we've spent what amounts to half a year fighting in here."

"Heh. Indeed we have. To think, in all my ten thousand years of life that I would be bested by a mortal."

Michael laughed, leaning back in his chair, "All it took was some clever imagination too! Guess that says a lot at how the people of the Imperium think."

Lucius smiled. It was an odd expression that he rarely wore. It wasn't the crazed, manic grin that he wore when slaughtering his enemies, but was instead a warmer, softer smile. Perhaps spending so long outside of Slaanesh's influence had done him some good.

"How about this," Michael began, "Considering there's no way you're going to be able to kill me in here, how about we make a deal? I get to wake up, live my life, and you get to live all cozy inside my head. How does that sound?"

Lucius, for his part, laughed amusedly, "You're trying to strike a bargain now are you? I suppose you would be getting tired of us just senselessly arguing. Though I must say that even if I do accept your proposal, what do I get out of it?"

Michael shrugged, "Continued existence? Something to change the pace of life? Honestly, I'm just trying to get out of this situation." he said candidly.

"I suppose I cannot fault you for that. Fine then, We shall postpone my trying to kill you until a later date. Maybe I can actually catch you off guard next time." Lucius agreed.

"So, what now?" Michael asked with a sigh of relief, "Do I just, wake up or some-"

[-]

"-thing?"

"You're awake!" was the first thing that reached Michael's ears as he opened his eyes. He groaned as the light in the room shone down on him, squinting his eyes and pulling his hand up to shield his face, only to find that his arms had been strapped down.

Lifting his head slightly, Michael looked down at his body to see that several leather-like straps held him to a cot, keeping him from moving. Aside from those, a dozen wired nodes were attached to his bare chest, which ran across the room towards a machine that seemed to be reading his vitals. At his bedside stood none other than Jarod himself, standing over Michael with a grin on his face.

"So… what happened? Did Lucius try to take over? Did Slaanesh try to take your-"

"Stop! Definitely not, no, and I don't really know yet… in reverse order." Michael said.

The two of them made quick work of the straps and nodes, freeing Michael of the medical equipment. Jarod asked many questions, and Michael did his best to answer them, describing the events of his battle with Lucius to the best of his ability.

"And I'm really not sure where to go from here. I mean, I've got what's essentially a champion of Slaanesh trapped inside my head, and we've actually come to a beneficial agreement. I know it'd technically be considered heresy by Imperial standards, but I'm pretty sure we're beyond that at this point." Michael finished.

"Well, I guess that explains the metal wall you had set up. Even with my powers, I couldn't see inside your head." Jarod explained.

Michael nodded in understanding. With the amount of defenses he had set up to keep Lucius from taking over, it was no wonder that Jarod had found a mental block of some kind. It did make him wonder though, how was he, a supposedly normal human, able to block out an alpha or higher level psyker like Jarod?

" _Actually, I may be able to explain that."_ a voice said in the back of Michael's head.

Michael immediately jumped, looking around the room.

"What's wrong?" Jarod asked.

"I heard a voice. It sounded just like… just like Lucius."

" _Indeed! I am here, though… not in the same way I had expected."_ Lucius explained.

Michael's eyes widened, "He's in my head! Lucius is talking to me in my head!"

" _An astute observation! And a correct one at that. Yes, I am in your head, and as for why you're are so capable of creating a mental block, well, I do believe you are a latent psyker!"_

"Ok… Jarod, you're not hearing this right?" Michael asked.

"No, I'm not hearing anything. Actually, hold on a second." Jarod closed his eyes for a moment, before opening again, _"Jarod has officially entered Michael's head chat. Can you hear me?"_

"Um… wow, it's weird hearing your voice and not seeing your mouth move…" Michael commented.

" _Interesting. Are you capable of hearing me as well?"_ Lucius asked.

" _Yes, you twit. We're both talking inside Michael's mind, obviously, we can hear each other."_ Jarod explained.

" _Fair enough I suppose. Anyway, as I was saying, I think Michael is indeed a latent psyker."_

Jarod blinked, "What now?" He asked audibly.

" _Even though his abilities remain dormant, he is still capable of many things most people are not. Absorbing other's emotions, passively reading thoughts, or putting up an immovable wall."_ Lucius elaborated in an amused tone.

"Great. More warp shenanigans." Jarod lamented.

Lucius only laughed hysterically.

[-]

 **A/N: And Lucius has officially been dealt with! I'll be honest, this was one of three or four outcomes I had in my head. In the end, this one just made more sense. I apologize if Lucius acts at all OOC in this, but combine the fact that my only exposure to him prior to looking him up is the TTS version, I think I did ok. As much as TTS inspired and will continue to influence this story, I do want to have some kind of grounding in reality… even if the 40k universe is simply pure, concentrated 80s turned up to eleven and then some.**

 **Reviews!**

 **Imperial Guard 1337:** Glad you're enjoying it! Here's some more!

 **Overlord-addict:** That… could only end well.


	19. Chapter 19

**986.M41 Aurorum III**

Kiara moved slowly, trying to make as little noise as possible. If she didn't move silently, he would catch her, and she couldn't have that. Checking the path through the park, she dashed from one tree to another, hoping to avoid detection. A testament to her own skill, her bare feet made almost no noise as they glided across the grass.

A voice, deep and rough, growled out through the air, "Where are you~?" The voice asked in a sing-song tone.

Kiara tried to suppress her breathing, pressing her back against the tree as her heart beat out of her chest. His footsteps echoed, the sound of crunching grass underneath Imperial boots. The heavy breathing. Kiara cautiously peeked around the tree, only to see that there was nothing in view.

"Gotcha!" Michael yelled as he tackled her to the ground, tickling her sides.

Kiara screamed and giggled, a wide smile adorning her face as she laughed. The two rolled around in the grass, the young Eldar half-heartedly beating Michael's chest in protest. Michael laughed at her attempts, laying out on the ground in surrender.

"Ah! You've slain me oh great warrior!" Michael proclaimed dramatically, clutching his shirt and reaching up into the air. The scene made Kiara laugh, her voice sounding like a dozen voices singing in glee.

Michael smiled, laughing at his own antics. The two had been playing in one of the craftworlds parks as soon as Michael managed to convinced Elirom he wasn't going to be taken over by Lucius. It had taken some haggling, but having the Farseer speak with Lucius himself had managed to get him to agree. Though, Michael still wondered if there was an Eldar Ranger somewhere with a sniper rifle trained on him.

"I'm glad you're okay," Kiara commented as she sat next to him, arms wrapped around his cybernetic limb.

Michael smiled, "Yeah, I am too kiddo."

Kiara wrinkled her nose, "kiddo?" She asked, looking up at him.

Michael chuckled to himself, remembering that as quickly as she may be picking it up, her low-gothic vocabulary was still incredibly limited. Granted, his own Aeldari wasn't much better, but they were both still learning.

"It's a nickname. Like, 'kid' is a word to use in place of 'child', and kiddo is just a longer version of it." Michael explained, "Don't ask who came up with it because I really don't know."

Kiara just giggled. It was good to see a smile on her face, Michael thought. It had been roughly a week since Lucius' failed attempt to take over Michael, and even though the space marine made a commentary from time to time, he mostly kept quiet. He also hadn't tried to take over again, explaining that it would have just been a waste of effort and he was much better off simply viewing the world through Michael's eyes.

That also reminded Michael of the bomb Lucius had dropped soon after he'd gained consciousness. Apparently, he was a latent psyker, but his abilities were being locked down by some unknown entity. Lucius suggested Michael may be internally suppressing his own powers, something that was incredibly likely if he had negative experiences with other psykers in the past. They immediately dismissed the idea as he seemed quite comfortable around Jarod.

The other option was that some warp entity, likely a powerful one, wanted to keep Michael's power's on lockdown for some reason. Jarod and Elirom both had later tried to detect any such entity but only found the usual scramble of daemons in the warp. For now, they had been drawn a blank, and could only work with what they had.

They had also discovered the extent to which Lucius was connected to Michael as well. In short, Lucius' soul was piggy-backing off of Michael's, incredibly stealthily and barely visible if you weren't outright looking for. It actually took Lucius actively trying to make his soul look brighter for Jarod to find it, and even then Jarod only barely noticed.

" _Must you participate in such childish activities?"_ Lucius said, interrupting Michael's thoughts.

" _Hey, she's barely four Terran years old. You almost killed her, and she's basically glued herself to me, so unless you want me to break her heart, I'm staying right here."_ Michael shot back.

" _I personally don't care what happens to the girl. I'm just bored is all."_

" _Of course you are…"_

"Where are you going to go next?" Kiara asked, breaking Michael and Lucius' conversation.

He shrugged, looking down at her, "Right now? I'm not going anywhere. Probably won't be going anywhere for a while either."

Kiara smiled warmly, hugging Michael's chest. Her arms didn't even reach all the way around, and Michael reciprocated the gesture by wrapping his own metal arm around her.

"That's good. I don't want you to go away," she said solemnly.

Michael grimaced, thinking that she probably associated him in a similar aspect to a guardian at this point, "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere."

[-]

"So… what are we supposed to do with this?" Jarod asked as he gestured to the Astartes sized weapon on the table before himself, Calivar, Matthias, and Elirom.

The Laer blade was a cruel, wicked weapon that had gained a reputation over it's ten thousand years of existence. Its blade was clean of any markings, and yet the hilt, guard and pommel were covered in abhorrent etchings that hurt to look at. When it had first corrupted Fulgrim, a daemon had been living in the gemstone that rested in its pommel. That daemon was long gone now, but the weapon was still cursed.

"I would suggest throwing it out into open space, or maybe the warp, to be lost for all eternity… but I'm pretty sure we all know how that would end up."

Elirom nodded, "Indeed, no matter how lost such a weapon may appear, she-who-thirsts will find a way to bring it back into its service."

"I say we destroy it. Melt it down, blow it up with explosives or just jettison it into a star, any of those options would be preferable than simply having it sit here," Mattias suggested, gesturing to the blade.

"I agree." Calivar said simply, "A weapon of this caliber should not be left alone in any capacity. Though I wonder if conventional means would be enough to destroy such a weapon."

Jarod shook his head, "Probably not all things considered. As Elirom said, He/She/It wants this thing back, and while the weapon itself might not be sentient, it can probably help things along in its own way."

"Then destroying it is the best course of action. Where do we begin?" Matthias asked.

Jarod frowned, "I'm not really sure. Realistically I would say we start off by trying to melt the thing, and if that doesn't work, we'll go from there."

"While the path of execution is rather blunt, I must agree." Elirom said, "We will just have to see if such methods will work."

The four of them carefully transported the weapon down to Matthias' forges, Calivar carrying the weapon in a sealed container designed to limit the effects of the warp. The box was covered in runes and symbols both of Imperial and Aeldari origin, all of which limited whatever warp presence tried would have extreme difficulty getting inside of the box.

When they reached the forges, Matthias began heating up the foundry, and the heat radiating off the machine was enough to make Jarod and Elirom sweat from being so close. Calivar didn't sweat due to his nature as an Astartes, and Matthias had gotten augments to help deal with the heat, so there were no issues there. As soon as the foundry reached the maximum temperature, the weapon was removed from its case, Calivar handling the weapon with extreme care.

The space marine lowered the weapon into the white-hot reaches of the foundry blade-first, the weapon glowing with heat. Matthias closed the foundry as soon as the weapon was inside, and they waited. It felt like hours had passed, all of them simply standing there with bated breath.

When they felt they had waited long enough - roughly ten minutes - before Matthias once again opened the foundry. Using a pair of heat resistant tongs, he extracted the white-hot, fiery blade. Bits of the guard, grip, and pommel had been completely burned away, leaving only the barest of parts required to adequately call the Laer blade a usable weapon. The blade itself was left relatively untouched, with the engravings and etchings glowing a sickly orange-white.

"Well… that didn't work." He summarized, "How hot does this thing get again?" he asked.

Matthias hummed, "A few thousand Kelvin, roughly the same temperature as the surface of a star. If that wasn't enough to destroy this weapon…" He left the sentence hanging in the air, unsure of what to do next.

Jarod grimaced, before turning to Elirom, "Would it be possible to move, throw, or otherwise teleport the Laer Blade into the core of a star?" he asked.

Calivar and Mattias both went wide-eyed at the implications. He had suggested such action in their original meeting, but neither truly thought he was serious. They then mentally berated themselves for thinking the Rogue Trader would accept any solution that wasn't absolutely insane.

"I believe such a task would be possible, if incredibly difficult. If we simply wished to transport it through the warp, there is little trouble in targeting the center of the star, the obvious drawback being that we would need to send the blade into the warp at all. However, if we wanted to transport it via other means… well, it would be akin to driving a nail into the planet's with nothing but a hammer." Elirom explained.

"While such a solution would be unorthodox, to say the least, I cannot outright disagree. Sending the weapon into the center of a star, even to a warped weapon such as this, would make it nigh impossible to retrieve \even if it didn't destroy it outright." Calivar retorted.

"Well, we don't very well have access to a teleporter on the Emperor's boot. Do you have any way of teleporting it Elirom?" Jarod asked.

"I am afraid Aurorum III does not have access to teleportation technology, no."

"So we're stuck with conventional means then. Any ideas?" Jarod asked.

This time, Matthias was the one with his own idea, "Perhaps we could take a sufficiently armored missile and replace the payload with the blade. I'm sure we could modify the model to fit it." Matthias offered.

Jarod slowly nodded his head, "That could work. Even if it didn't get to the core, it would get it deep enough. How long would it take to rework one of our own missiles?" he asked.

"Depending on the type, anywhere from a couple of hours to a few days. It would all depend on the payload we would have to remove, as the explosives would be quite volatile." Matthias explained, "The particular weapon I have my mind on is a rather large torpedo. Its payload shouldn't take more than a few hour's to swap out, and the armor could be reinforced well beyond what would be needed."

"Alright then. Matthias, you get to work on that, I'll get a course plotted to the nearest star that doesn't have any inhabited planet's." Jarod agreed, ending the conversation.

After the group disbanded, Jarod did indeed plot a course towards a nearby star. The warp jump would take a day at the longest, and the star in question was a fairly healthy yellow star. Michael opted to stay away from the operation, instead, remaining on the Craftworld.

By the time they reached the star, Matthias had finished replacing the torpedo's payload with the weapon. They parked the ship about fifty thousand kilometers from the star's surface. Jarod ordered the torpedo loaded and ready to fire before the projectile was launched toward the star.

"How long will it take to reach it?" Jarod asked Matthias.

"Less than a minute by my own projections." The techpriest offered.

Jarod nodded, turning to the viewport on the bridge, "Launch the torpedo." He ordered.

The mass of metal was fired from the ship's broadsides, moving at speeds that were only increased as it entered the stars direct gravitational pull. Jarod and the crew watched as it impacted the suns surface. They recoiled as a bright pink solar flare exploded from the star's surface, washing across the ships void-shields.

The ship shook violently, and every psyker on board heard a loud, echoing scream. The lights flickered and the main crew panicked as they tried to stabilize the ship. All the while Jarod had fallen to the ground, gripping his head as the scream felt like a nail driving its way into his psyche. Jarod, even with all his mental defenses at their strongest, grunted under the strain of the mental assault.

Eventually, the pink wave of fiery energy dissipated, and the psychic scream dissipated into the warp. Jarod collapsed to the ground as he sighed in relief. "Status reported!" he grunted.

"All system's are operational captain! The solar flare seems to have simply disrupted our systems, as well as significantly drained our void shields, but other than that everything is fine." One of the crewmen answered.

Jarod rubbed his temples, before he paused suddenly, his eyes going wide, "Where is the navigator?" he asked.

Jarod was then led to the navigator's personal quarters, and they found the Navigator in the corner of the room in a fetal position rocking back and forth. His nose was bloodied, and his eyes seemed to roll into their sockets. He was muttering quietly, but when they approached Jarod roughly translated his jumbled speech into desperate prayers to the Emperor.

Jarod reached forward to grasp his shoulder, shaking him, "Hey, wake up!" he ordered.

The navigator stopped muttering, his eyes going back to normal as he looked up at Jarod. His eyes widened as he lurched forward, grasping Jarod's shoulders.

"What did you do!?" he asked in a crazed voice.

"Hey! Calm down! I just destroyed a weapon of Slaanesh!"

His breath hitched for a second, "What?" he asked in a much calmer voice.

"We just chucked the Laer Blade, a ten-thousand-year-old sword into a star. A weapon that has killed millions." Jarod explained, "And right now, I need you to calm down."

The navigator paused, before nodding furiously and moving to sit on his couch. Jarod sighed, standing to his feet and straightening his outfit. After dealing with the navigator, Jarod ordered they head back to the craft world. Fortunately, the way back to the craft world was fairly uneventful.

[-]

 **986.M41 Cellos IV**

"I thank you again, Inquisitor." Has said as he and Inquisitor Karev stood ready to depart. With the campaign finished and all contingencies put into place, Karev felt it best he returned to his own responsibilities.

Yes, the Necrons were without a doubt something that could cause trouble in the future, but even Inquisitors had those they answered to. And even if he was well on his way already, Karev didn't want to be branded a radical just yet.

"There is no need to thank me, General. Though I may have assisted in these operations, you played no small part yourself. Though, I think we can both agree the rogue trader was the deciding factor." Karev offered.

Gaz chuckled, "Indeed. With the Necrons and us at peace, I believe they may be quite the boon in this planet's defense."

"Quite." A robotic voice announced as the Phaeron approached them.

The two humans jumped slightly at her voice but relaxed after a second. Even if they were allies, lifetimes of indoctrination and propaganda had programmed their senses how to respond, and it took no small amount of willpower to keep from panicking whenever she announced her presence.

"I assume you are heading off Inquisitor Karev?" She asked.

"Indeed. I am heading to a hive world where my presence has been requested. Apparently, the Xenos known as the Tau have attempted to expand, and I have been asked to assess the overall situation." He explained.

Nevha nodded, before reaching Into a pocket in her metallic robes, pulling out a small, cylindrical device. She reached forward, offering it to the Inquisitor, "I would like you to take this, Inquisitor. It is a short-range Immaterial Nullifier. A reality anchor if you will. While not nearly as advanced as some of the other technology my kind has to offer, it is something I feel might be useful to you in the near future."

Karev accepted the gift with a raised eyebrow, "A reality anchor?" He asked.

Nevha nodded, "Within a dozen meters, it can reverse or subdue the effects of the Immaterial. Be it banishing lesser entities, or closing a rift, I think you of all people could use such a device. It will only last for a few minutes, but I doubt you will need much more than that to accomplish your goals."

Karev smiled, rotating the object in his hands, "I must admit, most technology I acquire from other races is usually stolen. It is good to receive a gift for once." He said with a smile.

Nevha nodded, "Indeed." She turned to Gaz, "General, I must ask, what do you intend to do now?"

Gaz shrugged, "Well, we were ordered to deal with whatever was down on the planet - you as it turned out - and then stay here to function as an impromptu PDF force. So, I guess we're stuck here together."

Nevha chuckled. The sound was rather unsettling to hear, but both Gaz and the Inquisitor had gotten used to the warped speech of the Necrons, something that had been no easy feat.

"If that is the case, then I suppose our armies will be spending quite a bit of time together." Nevha noted, "I hope we can work well together in the defense of this world."

[-]

 **986.M41 Raxis Prime**

The Ethereal known as Shao'Noah, the leader of the Tau on the planet of Raxis Prime, stared at the device that the Earth caste had built. It was a weapon, specifically a large turret that could target and attack ships orbiting the planet from the planet's surface. Unfortunately, the weapons performance was still in the theoretical stage and the devastation that would be done to the foolish Gue'la that had been contesting Raxis Prime would have to wait until the weapon could finish construction.

Shao'Noah idly wondered why his superior's in the Ethereal caste had ordered such a weapon built. It used the disembodied brains of several Gue'la 'Psykers' in order to conjure such a devastating projectile. It still baffled him that the Gue'la had access to such abilities, and he wondered why they did not try to use them to their own advantage.

Regardless, the weapon was nearing completion, and even though it wasn't done quite yet, it would be by the time the Gue'la reinforcement's arrived. When that time came, well… they would show the fools the true might of the Tau.

Leaving the construction bay, he walked down a long hallway, the grey metal of the walls and floors cleaned far better than that of the Imperial's standards, though that was likely due to who he was going to visit. Commander Jay'Ki of the Fire cast had requested his audience, and with little else to do besides paperwork or organization, Shao'Noah agreed.

The commander jumped slightly as the Ethereal entered his office with little to no warning, "Ethereal Shao'Noah, I thank you for accepting my request," he said, relaxing slightly at the sight of his own superior.

Shao'Noah simply nodded with a smile, "It was no trouble. In fact, I am pleased that you requested my presence, what do you require?" He asked.

Jay'ki frowned, "It appears the Gue'la have managed to get a response to their requests for aid." he explained.

"What of it? We knew that they would receive it eventually, this would simply mean that their forces will arrive somewhat sooner." True, that would be a minor setback in and of itself, but even Shao'Noah was confident in the abilities of the Fire Warriors defending the planet.

"True, yes," Jay'ki nodded, "But this is different. The message that was intercepted was a data-slate with a fairly simple message, but baring this symbol," He explained, before producing a drawing of an 'I' with a skull at the center, "I am aware that the upper echelon's of the Ethereal's are aware of this organization, but I wanted to ask how we should respond. The message claimed that they would be here in less than a Kai'rotaa."

Shao'Noah hummed as he thought about the situation, adding the Commanders new-found information to his own wealth of knowledge. The symbol was that of the Gue'la organization known as the 'Inquisition', a troublesome group at the best of times. Some had attempted to work with the Tau, whilst others seemed to be driven to exterminating them. You could never really tell with the Inquisition, and as such, Shao'Noah was very careful of his decision.

"Proceed as planned, for now," the Ethereal stated, "Truth be told we can do little to predict how a member of this organization will change our status on Raxis Prime. It could be that they are of little consequence, or they could be able to rally the Gue'la guardsmen and destroy everything we have worked for here."

Jay'ki nodded, "Thank you, once again the wisdom of the Ethereal's outpaces that of any of us."

[-]

 **A/N:** **Sorry this chapter was a bit later than the others. Work has been hectic, and as of writing this I've only just left for vacation to Texas. Love the place, and wish I could live there, but that is neither here nor there. As you no doubt have noticed, the Tau *Cough* space commie's *cough* have made their first appearance! Unlike a lot of my other hint's dropped throughout the story, this one is going to have a much more immediate affect.**

 **The next few chapters probably wont be seeing much of the main MC's, and will instead focus on the escapades of Inquisitor Karev, and the Tau of Raxis Prime.**


	20. Chapter 20

**986.M41 Inquisitorial transport**

 **Raxis system**

Inquisitor Karev of the Ordo Xenos stared down upon the planet of Raxis Prime. The green, brown and blue colors of the planet all jumbling to =gether to form the massive continents that covered its surface. As high in orbit, as he was, one could almost forget the number of lives that were being lost. Still, it was not something he had the luxury of forgetting.

It was reported that the Tau's forces numbered between a hundred and a hundred and fifty thousand troops, while the guardsmen forces numbered around two hundred thousand infantry with supporting armor, artillery, and air support. One could easily believe that the Imperial's could win through sheer numbers alone, just as they had for millennia. Unfortunately, especially when dealing with the Tau, numbers could only carry you so far.

The technological advantage of the standard Tau infantry was enough to put one fire warrior on par with a dozen guardsmen in the correct situation. Granted such situations were rare in and of themselves, but the fact that those situations existed at all was enough to put the most experienced tactician off.

What was most concerning however was not the numbers, instead, it was what the Tau were building. Scouts had reported a large metal structure, presumed to be an anti-air weapon. The only conflict with such a presumption was the sheer size of the weapon, the barrel being several dozen meters long.

Such a weapon could be devastating to ground or air forces, but Karev almost wondered if the weapon could potentially be something… more. Surface-to-orbit weapons did exist within the Imperium, but those were few and far between. If the Tau were experimenting with such technology then the results could very well be disastrous.

"Sir! Incoming transmission from the planet's surface, it's the Imperial Guard." One of the crewmen announced.

"Put them through," Karev ordered.

The video feed came up in fairly low quality, showing Commander Jerimiah, the leader of the Imperial forces on Raxis Prime. He wore standard Imperial guard flak armor, though noticeable differences occurred such as the patches and medals indicative of his rank. His hair was short, grey, and had a receding hairline. His left eye had been replaced with a red lensed cybernetic, and his face was covered in wrinkles. This man was old and had been commanding Imperial forces long enough to procure his own collage of scars.

" _Inquisitor Karev, it is a pleasure to see that our requests for aid have been answered so quickly."_ The commander greeted.

Karev nodded, "Indeed. I have only recently finished a mission in a nearby system and I thought it best to deal with this while I was nearby." he explained.

" _Thank you, Inquisitor, such aid will surely help in exterminating the Xenos threat."_ Commander Jerimiah said, _"Though, I must admit that I expected you to bring a larger force along with you."_

"Unfortunately the majority of the forces under my command during my last mission were ordered to take the place of the local PDF, and thus I am only going to be taking command of the forces available to me on Raxis Prime," Karev explained.

The two men went on to discuss the actual strategy they would use to run the Tau off-world. The Tau forces had organized themselves around a mesa, with the larger amount of infantry and armor surrounding the base, while the Artillery and air deployment sat on top. The massive super weapon sat in the middle, guarded by dozens of guns and its own personal void-shields to avoid orbital bombardment and airstrikes.

Such a defense would be difficult to breach at best, and Karev idly wondered if he should wait for further reinforcement. Shaking the notion to the side, Karev suggested several probing attacks - all from different directions in a seemingly random order, so as to try and expose whatever weaknesses the Tau may have.

Over the next few weeks, several attacks were performed, with each attack consisting of a single regiment supported by light artillery. Such attacks were not expected to do any real damage but were instead meant to expose any weaknesses. The first few were rather useless, as the Tau were able to force the guardsmen to retreat. It wasn't until the fifth attack that any sort of weakness was found.

It was at the mouth of a river that ran from the mesa down toward the planet's ocean. The regiment attacked from both sides of the river, and found that the defense was much heavier along the river, which in and of itself was not useful - defending such a point was pivotal, as a river could provide a way to sneak passed such a defense - but the true benefit was where the defenses were pulled from.

Roughly a kilometer in either direction away from the river, the defenses had been decreased in order to build up the defense of the river. As such, both the Inquisitor and Commander agreed to reorganize the army into the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th line corps. The artillery would bombard the left side of the river where the defenses had been weakened, and the 1st line corps would advance in order to draw out as many defenses as possible.

Once the Tau had devoted their primary defenses to the left, the 2nd and 3rd line corps would advance on the right, with the 4th remaining in reserve. If the assault were to succeed then they would have a direct line of attack to the mesa, allowing them to funnel troops upwards. After the diversionary attack on the left was finished, the plan was to bomb either side of the forward line corps to keep the enemy reinforcements from dealing any real damage. Should the 1st line corps break through the enemies defense, however, then the 4th would go to support them while the 2nd and 3rd line corps would withdraw.

All of the line corps would be supported by both light and heavy tank regiments, with the artillery and air support where it was needed. Inquisitor Karev simply hoped that such an assault would succeed and that they would not have to resort to something more desperate.

[-]

The first wave of artillery crashed into the Tau defense, alerting the Tau commanders to the new assault. At first, the Tau assumed it was just another probing assault, but the appearance of the 1st line corps made it very clear that it was not. Las-fire, grenades, and tank shells began slamming into the Tau infantry and vehicles.

Both sides exchanged las-fire and pulse emissions. If they could get in close enough, the guardsmen used their bayonets to get into close quarters combat, rendering the range advantage of the Tau completely inert. Leman Russ tanks and Chimera APC's disgorged their munitions onto the enemy vehicles and battle-suits, killing dozens of them in minutes.

It seemed as though the lighter probing attacks had made the Tau forget the actual size of the Imperial force. Unfortunately, the extensive progress made by the 1st line corps was soon halted when the Tau artillery began bombarding them and Tau reinforcements arrived.

As soon as the reinforcements did arrive, Inquisitor Karev ordered the 2nd and 3rd line corps to begin their assault. Again, just like with the 1st line corps, the 2nd and 3rd line corps made amazing progress in the beginning before. Unlike the 1st line corps, however, their progress did not come to a halt when Tau reinforcements arrived.

It seemed the Tau thought that the second attack would be to draw the reinforcements away from the first line corps attack. Unfortunately for them, the 2nd and 3rd line corps were the main assault and managed to keep tearing into the enemy line. Soon enough they reached the foot of the mesa and began setting up methods to climb the face of the cliffs.

With the successful breakthrough, Karev ordered the 1st line corps to withdraw and take the 4th line corps duty as the reserve, while the 4th line corps followed behind the 2nd and 3rd in order to provide support. When the 1st began to withdraw, many of the Tau fire warriors and battle-suits attempted to follow them, but gave up when they realized that their efforts were needed elsewhere.

Inquisitor Karev sighed in relief when he heard that the 4th line corps had successfully established a safe route from friendly lines to the bottom of the mesa. Now the real challenge could really begin.

[-]

 **986.M41 Raxis Prime**

 **Tau command camp**

Shao'Noah cursed as he read Jay'ki's report on the battle. The Gue'la had somehow managed to find a weak point in their defenses and had launched two separate attacks, the first being a diversion. At first, Jay'ki had assumed the secondary attack to be the diversion, and had instead kept most of his forces to stop the first attack. Unfortunately, the second force was much larger than the first and broke through what little defenses they had.

At the rate they were going, they would be at the top of the mesa, ready to destroy everything the Tau had worked for in a day at most! He had to come up with some way to stop this assault.

"Ethereal, if I may ask, how are we to stop the Gue'la? They have managed to set up a fortified route to the base of the mesa and are preparing to scale it as we speak. If we leave things as they are, we will be overrun in less than a day!" one of the commanders explained.

"I am aware, but we cannot rush headlong into such action. If we do then we cannot hope to turn this to our advantage. Earth caste," he said, turning to one of the shorter T'au in the room, "How soon until the weapon has been completed?"

The Earth Caste member rubbed his chin in thought, "We can have it ready to fire within the next two days, but it will be unstable. We would need another five to fire it properly."

"What are the consequences of firing it early?"

The Earth Caste shrugged, "Minor damage at worst, perhaps some cracked cylinders. Nothing that would take more than a few days to fix."

Shao'Noah nodded, "In that case, then I suggest we move the bulk of our forces to delay the Gue'la, and then once the weapon is finished, we will take out their support ships in orbit to allow us to evacuate. Testing the effectiveness of this weapon in a practical situation is what our mission is after all."

The rest of the T'au at the table agreed with the course of action, even if the Earth Caste were hesitant to damage such a precious piece of technology. Regardless, the plan would move on unhindered.

They began by moving the majority of the rear and flanking guard to the front line of defense in order to slow down, if not outright stop, the advancing Imperials. They had the distinct advantage of having the high ground, whereas the Imperials would have to scale the mesa to reach their main force.

Once their forces had been moved into place, the real battle began. The Imperial's began scaling the walls, with men, vehicles, and heavy guns being lifted up the cliff. The Tau guns began raining pulse emissions down on the Imperials, gunning down several men. Unfortunately for the Tau, the force of Imperial troops was too concentrated and too large to be slowed, and the men reached the top of the mesa, lasguns firing at full auto.

The Tau battle-suits did their best to slow the Imperial armor, flipping tanks and APC's, but the sheer weight of enemy fire forced the large Xenos constructs to fall back or be destroyed. Imperial rocket launchers had caused the deaths of more than a few battle-suit pilots. The Imperials were able to gain a foothold at the top of the mesa, but after that, the rest of the Tau reinforcements arrived, halting the Imperial advance.

That was the first day.

The second day was far bloodier, with the Tau throwing their entire Infantry force at the Imperial line in hopes of driving them off the mesa. Unfortunately for the Tau, the nighttime lull in combat had allowed the Imperial's to transport artillery onto the mesa, thus allowing them to barrage the Tau's oncoming assault.

The Tau eventually did get close enough for the artillery to become ineffective, but their advantage over the Imperial's of the extreme range was lost, meaning they more often than not found themselves in melee with the Imperials, a prospect that did not go well for the fire warriors.

Blue and yellow clashed with green and red, Tau Fire Warrior versus Imperial Guardsman. Commissariats cut down any Tau able to get close to them, their bolt pistols barking as explosive rounds left their chambers. Chainswords revved as they ripped through Tau armor. Bayonets sank into soft blue flesh. Red beams of light burned away skin and bone.

The Tau were not prepared for the brutality of close quarters combat, whereas the Imperial's had been chomping at the bit to take advantage of the style. The Imperial's pushed forward, slowly but surely making their way toward the massive super weapon that the Earth caste was oh so close to finishing.

"How much longer until the damned thing can fire!" Jay'ki asked impatiently. The Imperial forces were less than an hour away from the installation at their current rate of advance, and if they couldn't successfully fire the weapon… the mission would be even more of a disaster than it already was.

"We are finishing the final calibrations now commander! Give us fifteen minutes and those ships in orbit will nothing but derelicts." The Earth Caste assured him.

The calm and collected tone of the Earth caste did nothing to reassure the commander. This weapon was supposed to be for the Greater Good, and his men were dying in service to protect such a device. A small part of his mind asked if so many lives were worth a single weapon, but a cautious look from the Ethereal banished the thought.

"All will be well, Commander. The greater good will prevail." Shao'Noah assured him.

Jay'ki calmed himself, breathing deeply. He had to remain level-headed for the time being, if for no other reason then to prove that he was worthy of the Ethereal's trust. Looking at the map, he saw the progress of the Gue'la, and how quickly they were moving. He wondered where their newfound strength had come from, but then reminded himself of the so-called 'Inquisitor'. The organization was apparently well known among the Ethereal's, so they must be talented commanders in their own right.

Once enough time had passed, the Earth Caste announced that the weapon was ready to fire.

"Target the lead ship of the Imperials! Quickly!" Jay'ki ordered.

On the battlefield, many guardsmen looked up at the massive, hundred-meter long cannon as it shifted position, pointing upwards. Purple and pink lightning crackled as the weapon began to glow. A massive beam of pink energy suddenly surged from the weapon as it fired into the atmosphere.

The group of Imperial ships watched in horror as their lead ship, the _Litany of Fire_ was torn in half by a massive beam of pinkish warp energy. Inquisitor Karev stared from the bridge of his ship, wide-eyed at the destruction wrought by the Tau's latest weapon.

Down on the planet's surface, the Tau on the battlefield cheered as they witnessed the successful firing of their latest weapon. Such cheers were soon turned to screams of terror as the Weapon, the compound, and anything within a kilometer of the weapon was consumed in a burning, eldritch explosion.

The minds of the Psyker's used to fuel the weapon had been torn asunder by the Tau scientists and with no control of their own abilities, let out such a scream within the warp that they opened a rift. A kilometer across, the hole in the planet's surface appeared to be a whirlpool of demonic energies. Guardsmen called for a retreat as daemons began pouring out of the rift, tearing into the Tau fire warriors that hadn't been caught up in the initial blast.

Such creatures were the denizens of the warp, monstrosities birthed from pure emotion in service to the dark gods of chaos. Lasfire and pulse emissions did almost nothing to stop such creatures, as they simply kept rushing forward and tearing into Tau and human forces indiscriminately. The Tau, with their commanders dead in the explosion, panicked and were wiped out fairly quickly.

The Imperial's used the distraction their enemies provided to withdraw to their fortifications and watch as the daemons destroyed the Tau utterly and completely.

Fire Warriors were skewered by tentacles and spikes, bitten in half or swallowed whole, or simply torn apart by massive claws. The guardsmen, more often terrified than not, opened fire with artillery and heavy weaponry in order to take down as many of the creatures as possible.

Up in orbit, Karev stared in horror at the blip of glowing pink visible on the planet below. Vox operators were panicking as they relayed orders and requests for reinforcement, meanwhile, Karev could only stare.

"Sir! What are we going to do!?" one of the crewmen asked.

Karev blinked, "Get a message to the astropath, tell him I need to send a request for aid to a specific set of coordinates." he ordered. The crewman nodded, relaying the message and coordinates.

"I hope you get this Jarod… I don't know what we'll do if you don't."

[-]

" **And you're sure they actually went through with such a plan?"** the red daemon asked incredulously.

"Yes, my lord. The Xeno's known as the Tau have opened a warp rift on the world known as Raxis Prime, and have been summarily wiped out. The Imperial loyalists remain, however, and it is unknown if they plan on staying or evacuating." the sorcerer explained.

The red daemon primirch huffed as he gazed out the window of his tower. His precognition warned him that the planet had a much larger role to play, and for some reason, he was getting that same sensation he did when he spoke to the Slaaneshi marine.

" **Tell me, whatever happened to that Slaaneshi marine? How did his raid end up going?** He asked.

The sorcerer Astartes shrugged, "His band was wiped out, and if I hear correctly, Lucius the eternal was killed in the assault. A temporary setback to be sure, but rumor has it that he has yet to return even now."

This notion caused the daemon Primarch to raise a brow, **"The first captain of the Emperor's children has yet to return? What could possibly be taking him so long?"**

"We are unsure, however… some fear that he may have actually been put down… permanently."

" **Permanently? I thought only a creature with pure mercy in their mind could outright kill him? What, did the shrieking skeleton himself get off his throne put a stop to him?"** he asked.

The sorcerer scoffed, "Nothing so ridiculous as that, my lord. No, it is simply a rumor, nothing more."

Magnus the red hummed as he began to scry the planet of Raxis Prime. Out of idle curiosity, he sent a minor daemon to observe the ensuing battle. Perhaps he would finally understand what Tzeentch was constantly laughing about.

[-]

 **A/N: Well, this is quite interesting. Two chapters in a single week! Isn't vacation a wonderful thing? All the same, I hope you've enjoyed this chapter and everything it will end up leading to.**

 **Overlord Addict: Yeah, those pretty much are the only good warcries. Anything else is just kinda lame.**

 **Imperial Guard 1337: Pretty sure they know now…**

 **Guest: Well, I wouldn't put that out of possibility. It certainly wouldn't be the strangest thing to happen in the 41st millennium.**

 **The Inquisitor: Well, I don't think either of them will be getting particularly attached to corpses soooo….**

 **Blaze1992: Yeah, Lucius isn't exactly one of the nicer traitor marines.**


	21. Chapter 21

**986.M41 Raxis Prime**

Inquisitor Karev sighed as he felt the ground underneath him shake. He lifted a lho stick to his mouth and lit it with a lighter he had borrowed off of a guardsman's corpse somewhere down the line. He sat inside a shoddily put together command tent, a desk in front of him and two commanders in front of him. One was the older man, Commander Jerimiah, while the other was a much younger Captain Lukas, a man with short brown hair and brown skin.

The smoke filled his lungs, calming his nerves somewhat. The things might kill him in the long run, but in the position, he was in now, he needed something to keep him from panicking. He had sent the request for Captain Jarod two weeks ago, and even though he knew warp travel could take months, he was still holding out hope that Jarod would arrive soon.

He had also sent requests for aid to many other organizations and groups, but each had either refused outright or agreed to help once they had finished their current mission. Some didn't even respond at all.

The initial panic caused by the warp rift was soon reigned in, the guardsmen organized and set up into a defensive position around the rift. Daemons poured out regularly, simple and dumb creatures at first, nothing that a few well-placed explosives couldn't deal with. The problems started when the cultists began to show up.

No one was sure where they first started coming from, only that around the fifth day of constant combat against the daemons, hundreds of crazed men started running out of the rift. Most of them bore the markings of Khorne, running as fast as they could to get into melee range with the guardsmen. The daemons began to narrow in their scope as well, with more blood-letters showing up and the others beginning to dwindle.

By the end of the first week, the guardsmen were facing Khornate daemons and cultists exclusively, with only a rare sighting of anything belonging to any of the other three. The only exception was some small Tzeentchian daemon that seemed more inclined to observe and stay alive, retreating any time it was spotted by any guardsmen.

Karev idly wondered what interest the god of change held in the war, but he immediately purged the thought from his mind. That line of thinking led to destruction and little else.

Regardless, things seemed to be going well until two days ago. They had managed to hold the cultists back with minimal casualties of their own, banishing the daemons back the warp and gunning down anything that tried charging their lines.

Then the Astartes showed up. Traitor Marines.

They rushed forward and broke the guardsmen line, ripping and tearing into the trenches that had been dug, forcing many of the guardsmen to retreat. Far too many guardsmen died, and there were far too few traitor corpses to show for it.

At present, only a third of the Imperial line still stood, with the rest of the guardsmen from the other parts of the defense falling back to reinforce the said line. Orbital bombardment was out of the question, as they were just as likely to hit their own men as they were traitors. Much of the artillery belonging to the Imperials had been destroyed, abandoned in favor of keeping as many men as possible alive. Even then, of the two hundred thousand men that Karev had taken command of at the beginning of the campaign, twenty thousand had been killed in combat with the Tau, and almost sixty thousand had been lost to the daemonic hordes of Chaos.

The second line corps had been utterly wiped out at this point, with the third and fourth being drained of men and resources. Only the first remained somewhat intact, being in reserve during the final assault on the Tau.

The current plan was to transport as many forces to the base of a nearby mountain in order to wait out the traitors and hope that reinforcements would arrive soon.

"Inquisitor, how long are we supposed to hold out for? If we can't evacuate or the reinforcements don't arrive soon then we're all going to die here." Captain Lukas on the other side of his desk asked.

Jeremiah answered before Karev could get the chance, "We will hold out as long as we can. As much as I may hate the idea of fighting down to the last man, better we do that than let this world become a daemon world."

The younger captain paled slightly at the implications, "You… Do you think that could actually happen?" he asked in disbelief.

"Without a doubt," Karev answered for the commander, "I may not be an expert in daemonology but even I can tell you that it won't take long for them to do so. The longer we hold out, the longer it will take for them to complete whatever rituals it will take to further escalate the situation."

The group considered their options further, deciding to just wait as long as they could. Eventually, they received word that the troops had all managed to get into position around the mountain, with the daemons closing in on them. The first defense was not an easy one.

The first wave of cultists, bloodletters, flesh hounds and many other assorted daemonic entities slammed against the Imperial defense. The guardsmen had dug themselves in well, and for two solid days held strong. Nothing the servants of Khorne could throw at them seemed to be getting through… at first.

It was halfway through the third day when the first line of defense, the right flank to be specific, reported the presence of a greater daemon. Shortly after, the vox went silent and a pillar of fire was visible from where the attached troops were entrenched. No one was eager to fight whatever could do that.

Regardless, Inquisitor Karev sent a detachment of a thousand men to reinforce the flank. They at least managed to get a good look at the monster before being burned alive by it.

It was a massive, four-meter tall creature made entirely out of brass armor, with fire seeming to come from its eyes, mouth, and multiple spots on its armor. The armor itself could be recognized as a long since skewed and remodeled Astartes armor, with visages of the World Eaters traitor legion visible on its pauldrons. Marks of Khorne were spread all over its body, and it wielded a giant flaming whip with three large hooks on the end.

For better or for worse, Karev received this information shortly before the force he'd sent was utterly slaughtered by the greater daemon. He cursed in frustration.

' _I should've been a member of the Ordo Malleus if I was to be expected to deal with this! I specialize in Xenos for the Emperor's sake! Not this!'_ he thought.

The next twenty-four hours weren't any better. With the right flank collapsing in on itself, the rest of the first line began to fall apart. Daemons ran rampant through the trenches, tearing men apart and forcing those that could to retreat to the second line. After the fourth day, the first line had been completely wiped out. All that was left was the second and third lines, and beyond that was the fortress inside the mountain itself.

If the daemons managed to get inside the mountain itself, then there would be nothing left of the Imperial defenders. And after that, it wouldn't be long until the entire planet would be consumed by Chaos and turned into a daemon world.

Three more days they held out, the second line slowly being corroded away by the chaotic forces. The greater daemon that singlehanded wiped out the first lines right flank was spotted several more times, each time dealing massive amounts of damage and wiping out thousands of soldiers.

By the seventh day of the defense, the second line had completely collapsed, and the third line was being battered. Of the 120,000 troops, there were only around 50,000 left defending the third line and the fortress.

Only time would tell how long they could hold out.

[-]

" _Reinforcements needed at the left flank! They're tearing us apart!"_

" _Are those space marines!? The right flank is under attack- GAH!"_

" _Greater daemon sighted in sector three! Requesting reinforcements!"_

Messages flooded Karevs vox-bead, all of them calling for reinforcements or reporting enemy movements. Nothing was in good condition. The ships up in orbit were all running skeleton crews, barely able to assist in any way with no real bombardment options available to them. An evacuation was out of the question, but they couldn't leave without the express orders of their superiors. It was a lose-lose situation.

Karev sighed as he redirected troop movements and numbers on his data-slate, trying in vain to stall the daemons as long as he could. A tank regiment sent here, an artillery strike there, none of it was very professional and he would likely be branded as incompetent if he survived the battle.

Then, the front line broke.

"All units retreat to the fortress!" Karev ordered as he began strapping his carapace armor on, "I repeat! Retreat to the fortress!"

The left and right flanks retracted from their positions as fast as they could, while what was left of the front tried to form a staggered retreat. Karev himself began walking out of his bunker room to the front of the fortress. Gun emplacements dotted the mountainside, trenches circles the only entrance and exit to the fortress. Men and women grimaced in grim determination, determined to take as many daemons down with them as they could.

"All troops ready!" Karev shouted as he drew his las-pistol, checking the power-ack and making sure it was at maximum energy output.

In the distance, he could see men and vehicles retreating through the forests of Raxis Prime, and he could hear the screams of the men and women that were too slow to get away from the daemons. And that was when _it_ showed up.

Lumbering out of the treeline, the greater daemon of Khorne roared in a challenge, daring anyone to cross the three hundred meter gap between it and friendly lines in order to engage it in melee combat. The response of the guardsmen was to shoot it in the face. Repeatedly. With everything they had.

Lasguns, plasma weapons, bolters, heavy stubbers, krak missiles, grenades, and anything else the guardsmen could find was hurled towards the greater daemon. Unfortunately, none of it seemed to have much effect.

The daemon charged, and the forces of chaos not far behind. Cultists, lesser daemons, and even traitor marines all ran forward, slamming into the Imperial line.

"Fire everything you have!" Karev ordered as he began firing his las-pistol, getting a headshot on a cultist. No one argued his orders.

The fighting was gruesome, agonizing, and beyond what any of them had trained for. It was all Karev could do to keep standing.

Then, one message managed to make itself audible over everything else.

" _How are you guys holding out down there?"_

Karev blinked. Then looked up. He gazed in glee as he saw Imperial dropships begin to fly above them, before the troops inside said dropships began diving out, activating their grav-chutes and opening fire on the daemons with their modified lasguns. White beams of light shot forward, ripping the lesser daemons and cultists apart and forcing the traitor marines to actually take cover. More and more of Jarod's measly five thousand men began to reinforce the Imperial line.

Karev grinned as one of the dropships landed near his position, and Jarod Carolinus stepped out.

"Well… looks like the fat lady hasn't just sung, but she's halfway to her hotel." Jarod quipped.

Karev grinned as he redirected his attention to the battlefield before him, "Took you long enough! I assume you have a plan!?" he asked frantically.

Jarod smiled. With a blink, intentionally or not, his eyes lit up with a golden-yellow light. "I think I have a few ideas." He drew the power-sword at his side and charged forward. His right palm surged forward, and a burst of lightning shot forth impacting a cultist, and further chaining into a dozen others.

With blinding speed, Jarod began tearing into the cultists and daemons, lighting and fire at his fingertips. If Karev were to guess, then Jarod would have to be an alpha psyker at least. As it was, the Rogue Trader moved like the wind, dodging any attacks he didn't outright halt with his own abilities. Traitor marine bolts detonated against a psychic shield, gouts of fire from daemons did nothing to him as he simply waded through them.

All of this came to a halt when Jarod found himself face to face with the greater daemon.

As it was, he had cut a bloody path through the daemonic forces, allowing the guardsmen a brief respite from the harsh combat. Now, however, he stood before something that would test his abilities without a doubt. The daemon roared, bringing its massive whip down on Jarod. Jarod did a backflip in the air, courtesy of telekinesis, before landing on top of the husk of a Leman Russ tank.

"I guess you're the one who's been causing so much trouble eh?" Jarod asked the daemon, getting a roar of pure rage in response.

Jarod shrugged, before unleashing a stream of yellow fire from his palm that enveloped the daemon's entire body. The daemon screamed as its flesh was actually burned by warpfire before it sent its whip careening towards Jarod. The Rogue Trader dodged the attack at the cost of letting up his own assault, giving the daemon enough time to lunge forward to grab him.

Jarod narrowly dodged the initial grab, only for a second attempt to successfully grab onto his leg. The daemon swung Jarod's body to the side, sending him flying. Jarod, thinking quickly, used his power to stabilize his trajectory and lift himself up into the air, hovering just above the greater daemon.

The dreature roared again, sending a blast of daemonic fire towards Jarod's floating form.

[-]

Nuk'Kazznik'thuk was a fairly weak daemon, not being good for anything more than observation really. It was a wonder the Daemon Primarch, Magnus the red, had even sent it to do anything at all. Still, it at least enjoyed watching the servants of Khorne and the mortal's of the Imperium go at each other.

Until _he_ showed up. A man, short enough that he could have been mistaken for a child, walked out onto the battlefield along with the reinforcements that had come to the Imperial's aid. The man seemed to glow within the Immaterium, unnaturally so, and any attempts to tempt him with power, pleasure or anything else only seemed to harm the tempter. His mind was like that of an anathema, not unlike the Corpse Emperor was before he had been bound to the golden throne.

It was curious that the man was so capable out on the battlefield, wielding his powers in such a way that would have been foolishly reckless for anyone else, but because of his anathemic properties, he could do just fine with.

None of the more diplomatic daemons could get anywhere near his mind, and those that tried were simply burned in a white hot blaze for their troubles. It was a wonder how he was able to do such a thing, and witnessing it made the Daemon of Tzeentch cringe. This was what the Primarch was so interested in?

It made sense at the very least, but even so, the daemon thought it best to simply observe, and wait for his opportunity.

[-]

Jarod coughed onto the back of his hand, witnessing the blood that covered it. Ruptured left lung, where the daemon's whip had found purchase on his body. Not the worst injury he'd ever had to deal with, but it was dangerous.

Their fight had actually cut into the daemonic forces rather well, with the greater daemon not caring for the safety of his comrades, only focusing on Jarod and their fight. Jarod, on the other hand, was all too aware of the guardsmen's squishyness and had gone to great lengths to keep them from getting killed unnecessarily.

Their battle had torn into the land itself, with great swaths of dirt being turned up and shifted, trees being pulled up and used as battering rams. The daemon's whip was long gone now, but that didn't make the creature any less dangerous. Its fiery breath seemed to burn the very ground it walked on, and every time Jarod attempted to deal the killing blow, it seemed to do the impossible and avoid his attack.

It had only gotten worse when the daemon had sprouted bat-like, fiery wings and the two began dancing in the skies above the battlefield. Jarod hated admitting it to himself, but he wasn't going to last much longer if the fight kept up the way it did.

"Alright… how about we make a deal?" he asked the daemon, only getting a roar in response, "You die, and I go home. How does that sound?"

Jarod used all of what he thought was his remaining power and brought himself flying into the air. He gathered his energy, and the daemon sensed it, roaring in defiance and charging toward him. Jarod, for his part, closed his eyes in order to focus. He felt the energy building, and he felt the power expanding within himself. It kept getting bigger and brighter.

Then, he felt the greater daemon slam into him, a rush of heat, and everything went white.

[-]

Karev attempted to shield his eyes from the enormous explosion that went off high above the battlefield. A massive, bright white ball of energy seemed to coalesce rapidly around where Jarod and the greater daemon had been fighting, and the blast had blinded many guardsmen and cultists alike.

It made Karev wonder just what Jarod had done, and when he looked up, he was given an answer.

The chared, torn, and burning body didn't even hit the ground as its form burned away, its existence being banished back to the warp. Jarod was nowhere to be seen… at first. Karev caught a glimpse of Jarod's body falling to the ground, no slowing down in any capacity. The inquisitor began to panic, shouting into his vox-bead for Jarod to wake up.

Yet, Jarod's unconscious form kept falling, until it reached only a few hundred meters from the ground, where white fire seemed to envelop his body as he readjusted himself to hit the ground legs first at terminal velocity. Karev went wide-eyed as he ran forward to see where the Rogue Trader had landed and was shocked at what he saw.

He found Jarod kneeling in a crater, surrounded by cultists and Daemons who were attempting to recover from the shockwave of Jarod's impact. Jarod himself glowed an eerie white, his eyes bright globes of fire in and of themselves. He didn't smile, he didn't snark, instead, he unleashed a wave of fire that seemed to burn the daemon's and cultists alike. When the wave washed over Karev, he flinched at first but found that the flames seemed to have no effect on him.

Jarod began to walk forward, before Karev rushed forward, grabbing his shoulder, "Jarod! What on Terra is this!" Karev said as he pulled Jarod around to face him.

When he looked into his eyes, Karev blanched. Those eyes were filled with something akin to a burning fury, or a writhing hatred, unlike anything Karev had ever seen before. Or perhaps it was something else entirely, some emotion beyond the normal human understanding.

" **You do not understand, Inquisitor Karev, son of Marvin, for you have never witnessed the Emperor's own fury."** The not-Jarod explained, **"Now observe, as I show you a mere fraction of the Emperor's own power."**

Karev's eyes widened when the thing turned away from him and raised its hands out to the battlefield in front of it. Without warning, another wave of fire was sent out, washing over the entire battlefield before them. Daemons roared in agony as holy fire tore at their very beings while cultists and traitor Astartes screamed as the corruptions of chaos were ripped from their minds. The Imperial's, however, all began to feel rejuvenated by the wave of energy, soon redoubling their efforts.

Karev watched in awe as an anathema to chaos itself waged war against the ruinous powers.

[-]

The daemon of Tzeentch screamed as its soul was banished to the warp. It writhed in agony as it limped it's way back to its master on the planet of sorcerer's. The anathema had returned! There was no other explanation! Unless… no, all of the Primarch's were either dead or turned traitor, and the anathema that had wiped out the forces on Raxis Prime was far to short to be a primarch! And yet, the corpse emperor still sat upon his throne.

Magnus the red grimaced as the daemon collapsed upon the foot of his throne. It seemed as though the daemon's report might not even be necessary.

" **What did you see…"** Magnus began.

The daemon recounted its tale, starting from the first opening of the warp rift to the moment it was banished to the warp. For every word it spoke, it seemed that the Crimson Daemon's scowl only deepened.

" **So, the Inquisition hasn't killed them all after all. A wonder some of my half-brothers have survived all this time. Perhaps it will be time for a reunion soon…"**

Magnus stood from his throne. It was time to prepare.

[-]

 **A/N: So… yeah. All of this happened. I'm fairly sure most of you will be able to guess just what Jarod is fairly soon, and, by extension, what Michael is. Safe to say neither of them was really aware of it.**


	22. Chapter 22

**986.M41 Unknown location**

Jarod blinked awake, staring up at the clear blue sky. He moved to get up, and found that he was no longer wearing his standard carapace armor and greatcoat, instead, he wore a deep maroon set of bedrobes. He was surprised at his situation, taking a second to look around his new surroundings. He stood in an open, grassy field that seemed to go for miles on end, stretching beyond the horizon. It was only broken by the occasional oak tree, something that seemed to enhance its natural beauty.

"Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice asked from behind him.

Jarod spun around quickly to find a man standing a few meters behind him, smiling warmly. The man stood at roughly two meters tall, wearing a golden version of Jarod's own robes that seemed to fit the giant man perfectly. His brown hair reached his shoulders, and his skin was a very tanned white.

It was his eyes that caught Jarod the most though. Bright blue orbs that seemed to stare into his very soul, making Jarod shudder involuntarily.

The man scoffed, "You have no need to fear me, my son. There is nothing that can harm you here, and even if I wished I doubt I could even lay a finger on you in my current state."

Jarod blinked, unsure of what to say before he finally found what seemed like a decent question, "Are you the Emperor?" he asked.

The man chuckled, "Yes, yes I am."

"You're an asshole," Jarod said suddenly, making the Emperor's brow rise slightly.

"I will admit, that is not quite the reaction I expected…"

"You _let_ the Horus heresy happen! You were a _terrible_ father! You were a Tyrant! How much more of an asshole can you be!?" Jarod exclaimed.

The Emperor sighed, "I suppose you are at least aware of previous mistakes. More so than the rest of humanity." He muttered to himself.

"I mean, you kinda _caused_ the Horus Heresy to happen. Everything you did basically supported it. I mean, I get trying to keep the knowledge of Chaos limited, that's not really the issue though. The issue is the lengths you went to in order to divide the Primarchs. You didn't tell anyone about the Imperial webway, you had Guilliman burn Monarchia, you took Angron away from his brothers in arms for what essentially amounted to a cheap laugh, you tricked Mortarion, and you didn't think to give Konrad a lesson in morality and restraint!" Jarod ranted, "And that's not even half the Primarchs!"

The Emperor sighed a second time, and this time his shoulders slumped, "I will be the first to admit that I have been a horrible excuse for a father. I see that now, but at the time, I had sealed away my own morality and compassion in order to better guide humanity. I see now how terrible a mistake that was."

Jarod took his own turn to sigh, "And it took you ten thousand years to realize that?"

"Infuriatingly enough, no, it only took a few decades. Unfortunately, by the time I realized my mistake, it was far, far too late." He said, closing his eyes and bowing his head.

"Which further begs the question," Jarod began, "How are you talking to me right now? You're supposed to be a barely alive corpse sitting on the golden throne. What's it costing you to talk to me right now?"

"Thankfully, not as much as you might think. Our contact was possible because you reached the limit, or what you thought was the limit of your own power. You exceeded what you were capable of, and unlocked your true potential." Explained the Emperor.

Jarod groaned, "So, what, I'm a Mary Sue now? Unlimited power, stupid levels of strength, and a harem of women coming after me?"

The Emperor chuckled, "Not quite. You are one of my descendants Jarod, specifically, my great-grandson."

It was at that moment that Jarod began to short-circuit.

"Wha?"

"It is good to finally meet you." He said with a warm smile.

Jarod took a few minutes to process the information, before another question came to mind, "So what does that mean exactly? That I have 1/16th of your power? I mean, that's nice and all, but… now what?"

The Emperor laughed again, "Do you realize how much 1/16th is my son?" Jarod shook his head, "With your level of power, should you feel the need to use it, you could make a star cease to exist."

Jarod blinked, and the Emperor continued.

"There are only a handful of people as powerful as you. Myself, Magnus, a few of the surviving Sensei, and one other in a similar position to yourself." He explained.

"Let me guess, you want me to try and fix the Imperium?" Jarod asked.

"Well, that would be the end goal I suppose, but even I can see that such a thing is not something one can do in humanities current state. No, I want you to become stronger. I want you to do what I could not. I want you to _end_ Chaos."

Jarod sucked in a breath, realizing the implications of what the Emperor was asking. To end chaos? To destroy the Ruinous Powers?

"What makes you think such a thing is even possible, to begin with?" Jarod asked.

The Emperor smiled, turning to face Jarod, "I believe our time is running short, and I am not able to keep the connection up for very long. I'm sure you will be able to figure it out."

The world around Jarod began to blur, and as Jarod held out his hand toward the Emperor's form, he felt himself fall backward, his consciousness leaving him.

The Emperor smiled sadly as he watched his great-grandson's form fade from the landscape that formed his own mind. He regretted so much, but perhaps, Jarod might be able to succeed where he had so spectacularly failed.

[-]

 **986.M41 Raxis Prime**

Karev led the charge against the remaining heretic Astartes and cultists, his sword and bolt-pistol cutting through flesh with ease. He felt the strength of the Emperor himself running through his very soul, and if the warcry of the guardsmen beside him was anything to go by, then they did as well.

The daemon's had long since been banished by Jarod's immense power, and the warp rift that had been causing such destruction was slowly closing. This merely left the traitors to be cut down by the Inquisitor and the men under his command.

It would have been disturbing had he been in any other state of mind, the way that the cultists simply screamed in agony or stared off into the distance in a shell-shocked fashion. The traitor marines were not much better, barely taking action to defend themselves against the hordes of men that charged toward them.

Jarod's guardsmen were at the head of the pack, their weapons being a step above whatever the guardsmen under Karev's command were using. Fiery beams of white light shot forth, burning through even Astartes war plate, showing just how much of an advantage Karev had been given.

Jarod himself was another matter entirely.

The rogue trader was a blur of speed, his power sword cutting through flesh and armor like it was nothing, leaving behind a trail of white flame. He fought silently, never uttering a single word or warcry.

Within minutes, they reclaimed the lines of defense that had been set up to defend their mountain stronghold. Within an hour they were nearing the mesa, where the warp rift was at its most terrifying. Within a day, they had killed or driven back every servent of the ruinous powers that once stood on the planet of Raxis Prime.

Jarod personally oversaw the warp rift, and with a show of extreme power, closed it. White fire surrounded the rift, and in less than a minute, nothing remained of the cursed door to the immaterium.

Any psykers within range had felt the power that Jarod possessed, and many said that wherever he went, the daemons in the warp seemed to flee from his presence. It was as if he were anathema to them.

When the warp rift finally closed, Jarod collapsed, as if from exhaustion. A handful of guardsmen were close enough that he did not hit the ground, and the group carried him to the medical tent nearby. When the medics looked him over, they concluded that he had no injuries, and his state of unconsciousness was due to nothing more than exhaustion. He was asleep for over a day, giving the Inquisitor and the rest of the guardsmen plenty of time to clean up the corpses of the traitors and Xenos.

The traitor's bodies and armor were odd, as they were completely void of any chaotic mutation. It was clear that physical modifications had been made to the weapons and armor of the Astartes, but beyond that nothing appeared wrong with them. It was strange, but Karev ordered their destruction regardless.

When Jarod finally awoke, he seemed highly concerned.

"What do you mean you don't remember?" Karev asked as he sat across from Jarod. The two of them sat in the medical tent, with Jarod sitting on his cot and Karev sitting on a chair across from him.

"I mean, the second I blew that daemon apart I blacked out. Whatever I did after that, I have no memory of." He explained. Karev hummed thoughtfully, and was about to continue speaking before Jarod interrupted him, "But… I did have a vision."

Karev's eyes lit up, and he gazed at Jarod sincerely, "What did you see?"

Jarod smiled, "Well, if the state of my mind was anything to go by during the battle, then I had a meeting with the Emperor himself." He answered.

Karev blinked, stunned for a moment, "I'm sorry wot?"

"When I blacked out, I had a meeting with the Emperor. Evidently, my psychic power was enough to reach the golden throne itself, thus resulting in the Emperor being able to contact me personally." Jarod explained.

Karev's mind was spinning at Jarod's revelation, and he initially wondered if what Jarod was saying could possibly be true. Wasn't such a possibility considered heresy of the highest order? But then, the living saint's existed, and what himself and the guardsmen felt during the battle seemed so… pure.

"If what you are saying is true… then, what does this mean? Where do we go from here?" He asked.

Jarod chuckled, standing from his bed, "Well, I guess the first step would be to start fixing this mess of an Imperium before anything else. There's… a lot, that's going to happen in the near future. And if nothing else, I could use a few allies." he said, holding his hand out to Karev.

Standing from his seat, Karev smiled and shook the Sensei's hand, "Well, with everything I have seen in recent time, I do believe that I can see myself joining your escapade."

Jarod grinned, _'As two warp beings are fond of saying… Just. As._ _ **Planned.**_ _'_

[-]

 **986.M41 Aurorum III**

Michael sighed as he napped underneath the wraithbone tree in the park. It was a nice, warm day. Kiara was busy playing with the few other kids on the craftworld, Jarod was off doing Rogue Trader stuff, Elirom was busy meeting with the council, and all of that left Michael with little to do but relax.

"It seems you have no quarrel in lazing about while your betters spend the day working." An arrogant, slightly-snobby voice stated in front of him.

Michael tilted his head up, opening one eye to see who had spoken. As usual, Salah, the Exarch of the Howling Banshee's was finding some way to criticize him.

"You know, if you spent less time working and more time relaxing, you might actually understand what it is I'm doing," Michael explained, leaning back again.

"And such 'relaxation' serves some kind of purpose?" she asked, "Besides avoiding your responsibilities?"

Michael chuckled, "It's what you do when you don't have any responsibilities, like now."

Salah raised a single eyebrow, "You say you have no responsibilities? Then where is Kiara? Why are you not keeping an eye on her?"

"She's playing with the other kids. Besides, it's not like she's in any danger, and even if she does somehow get in trouble, she knows where I am." He explained, making Salah's eye twitch.

"You truly are insufferable you know?"

"It's part of my charm," Michel said with a smirk.

Michael leaned forward again, opening his eyes fully, "So, did you come here just to antagonize me, or did you have some other reason?" he asked.

Salah pinched the bridge of her nose, before letting out a long sigh, "Much as it pains me to admit it… I require your assistance. The council has been informed of Kiara's situation, and have assigned me as her caretaker. Unfortunately, you are the only person she as of yet seems to trust. Because of this, I require your help in gaining her trust." she explained.

Within the black library, Cegorach idly wondered why there was a human giving him such praise.

"You find such a situation humorous!?" she demanded, her fists clenched as Michael rolled on the ground laughing.

Michael's laughter slowed, and he wiped a tear from his eye, "Hoo, oh wow, I'm sorry but just… wow, do you realize just how condescending you sound? I mean, I get it, I'm just some lowly Mon'kiegh, but… come on, if you wanted my help you could ask nicely at the very least."

Salah, almost exploding in a fit of rage, sighed, releasing the tension within her body, "Well, would you _please_ assist me in gaining her trust?" she asked painfully.

Michael chuckled, shaking his head slightly, "Well, with pleas for help like that, how could I refuse?"

Salah groaned but refrained from saying anything else.

Michael led Salah to where Kiara was playing with the other children, who's parent's soon noticed Michael and began removing their children from the area. Kiara frowned at first, before she spun around and rushed toward Michael, leaping into his arms. Michael caught her with practiced ease, laughing as she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Did'ja miss me?" Michael asked.

Kiara giggled, "You weren't even that far away!"

Salah tried to find a good opening in their banter to explain the situation, but soon found it impossible to break into their banter. The two spoke with practiced ease, and Salah took note of the fact that the young Aeldari girl was speaking low Gothic fairly fluently… for more fluently then was normal.

Such an effect wasn't unprecedented, as Eldar children were quite adept at learning, but it made Salah wonder just how long the girl had spent with Michael. She was broken out of her thoughts when she found Kiara standing in front of her.

"Why is Tsundere lady here?" she asked idly.

[-]

 **A/N: So… bleh. This chapter did not want to get written. I meant for Jarod and Karev's segment to go on for a lot longer, but I just couldn't figure out where I wanted to take it. Far as the segment with Big-E himself goes… not really sure I'm happy totally happy with it, but it's better than the first rendition. Didn't know if I wanted to go with prideful!Emps, regretful!emps, or TTS!Emps. Ended up going with regretful, as I think that's the one that is close to canon.**

 **Far as everything else goes, I ended up going to Halo: Outpost Discovery this weekend in Orlando. I'm actually writing this on the drive back (Little brother is driving, what do you take me for?), and I have to say it was a good experience for a first convention. Lines were atrocious though.**

 **Anywho, reviews!**

 **Overlord-Addict:** He did, and will. There are several people that will be… _very_ interested in who/what Jarod is.

 **Olav152:** Good thing indeed. There are going to be quite a few references to it in here.

 **Ronmr:** Yep, nail on the head.

 **Ayman El Kadouri:** Neither, as stated here.

 **Mashot Tito:** Not quite, but they are closely related. Which means that Magnus also made a miscalculation ;)

 **Thebro:** Hmm… not quite, but not a bad guess!

 **Guest:** Perhaps not a Hasbro brand, but I can easily see them doing such a thing.

 **Blaze1992:** More like anti-chaos.


	23. Chapter 23

**986.M41 Aurorum III**

Michael frowned as he sat cross-legged in his living room, his brow creased, and his jaw clenched. Lucius hadn't been much help, as the former chaos champion only seemed to tell him what _other_ psykers did to focus their power. With Jarod gone and Elirom preoccupied, all Michael could do was sit in his living room and meditate.

While he was doing so, his thought's wandered to Kiara and the ensuing conversation that followed her calling the Exarch a Tsundere. It had been hilarious that the little girl had picked up on the meaning of Tsundere as quickly as she did, and had even assigned it to someone.

The implications of the person she assigned it to were a bit less hilarious.

At first, she had assumed it was some kind of Mon'keigh insult that Michael had put into the little girls head, but those thoughts were soon eliminated what Kiara - Emperor bless her soul - explained what it meant. Naturally, Salah almost castrated Michael then and there, but… well, you don't become the Exarch of the Howling Banshees for having no self-control.

Salah eventually got around to explaining the situation to Kiara, to which the girl's response was to hide behind Michael's leg. Michael did his best to explain that no, this wasn't going to keep them from seeing each other, and yes, Salah was doing a very bad job of explaining that.

Kiara eventually - but with no small amount of reluctance - agreed to go with Salah. The Exarch left, barely muttering out a 'thank you' to Michael as she and Kiara walked off.

With that done, and Michael feeling slightly empty inside, he returned to his room. Two long days of nothing to do, and he'd gotten frustrated and decided to try and work on unlocking the psychic powers that Lucius seemed insistent on.

" _You need to be doing something, even if it's as simple as meditating. If you can truly unlock your power, then you have the potential to be very, very powerful."_ Lucius chuckled, _"Even more so were you to accept the gifts of the gods."_

At the mention of the chaos gods, Michael sighed and got up, "Lucius, how many times must I tell you. I frakking _hate_ chaos. Yes, certain elements can be used for positive effect, I mean part of Khorne's whole shtick is him being incredibly honorable, and I would be lying if I didn't think a slightly more restrained Tzeentch would probably do some good, but as of right now? Chaos is only destructive." he explained.

" _Tsk, well, clearly you have not enjoyed the sheer… sensation, that the dark prince can provide."_

"And I'd rather keep it that way, thank you very much."

His meditative state thoroughly destroyed, Michael decided to go for a walk. If nothing else he could go check up on Kiara.

Walking through the streets of Aurorum III was an odd experience for Michael, no matter how many times he'd done it. The architecture never formed in the way you'd expect, it would always turn or shift in a different direction depending on where you were looking. The sounds of people talking or grav-vehicles driving around made it _almost_ sound like a major city.

There was always something off, however.

Wraithbone was a weird material, and the fact that almost everything wound him was made of it didn't help Michael's senses at all. It always had this frayed look at the edges, as if reality was trying to catch up to whatever was there. The effect tended to disappear when one got closer to the object, but when Michael viewed the massive buildings from a distance, he always thought that it looked as if reality was fraying at the edges.

Regardless, once he crossed over from the city area and into the parks, things became a lot more serene. Tall trees branched out, covering the whole area in a cool shade, green grass was all over, never seeming to grow as it did 38,000 years ago. Flowers and bushes dotted the area, and it all radiated a calm warmth that made him relax.

All of that relaxation collapsed when he heard the sound of crying.

His head perked up and he looked around, trying to find the source of the crying. It wasn't a loud anguished wail, it wasn't a cry of terror, instead, it sounded like a heavy sob, as if that person were trying to be as quiet as possible - and failing.

Looking around, he spotted the Eldar equivalent to playground equipment, along with the Eldar children and parents scurrying off as his attention was drawn towards them. He quickly located the source of the tears - little Kiara, sitting underneath the slide. She had a bruise on her cheek, and tears were streaking down her face.

Michael rushed forward, scooping the girl into his arms and wrapping her in a hug. Kiara reciprocated the gesture, wrapping her own arms around his neck. The pair sat there for a few moments, Kiara bawling her eyes out and Michael trying to calm her down.

"Shhh, it's alright. It's ok, I'm here. What happened?" He asked, trying to figure out what had gotten Kiara into her current state of mind.

She sniffed, looking up at him with tears in her eyes, "They… they said I was…" her face twisted as she tried to find the right word in gothic before she just gave up and switched right to Aeldari, _"They said that I was unintelligent for being looked after by you, that I was weak for needing help from a human. Then today when the Exarch came to drop me off, all of them were terrified of her. And when she left they all started making fun of me and… and…"_ she broke down again, bawling her eyes out.

Michael sighed, holding her close. He didn't understand every word she said, but he'd gotten the gist of it. Of course, Eldar kids would bully each other, what playground didn't have that kind of crap?

"Alright Kiara, listen to me. You are _not_ weak, alright? You stood up to a _traitor space marine_ , that's not something a lot of kids - heck, even a lot of adults can say they've done." he said, getting a sniffle and nod in response, "Tell you what, why don't we go get something to snack on?" he asked.

Kiara nodded hesitantly, and the two of them went off to go get something to eat.

[-]

Salah cursed under her breath as she rounded the park for the third time looking for the girl, trying desperately to find her. She told her to stay put! Was it so hard to listen to authority? Salah shook her head as she continued looking. A thought managed to worm its way inside her head, saying that perhaps she could ask the Mon'keigh to help find her.

She snuffed the thought as soon as it came, but it kept rising back up. She didn't need the Mon'keigh's help, she could handle raising an Eldar girl… it was simple, really, why else would the council have given her the responsibility?

Salah growled in frustration but continued looking.

For another hour.

Finally, she gave up and went to find that stupid, arrogant, sassy, smart-aleck Mon'keigh. She called him on what the Mon'keigh called the 'vox' channel, via a bead she had been given by someone after the battle. She had almost discarded the device at first, but the Farseer had advised against it. Though she would never admit it, she was thankful she didn't throw it away.

" _Yello? This is captain Michael."_ his shrill, cheery voice answered as her line connected.

"You stupid… gah, nevermind. Where is Kiara?" she asked firmly.

Michael seemed to chuckle before responding, _"We're both here at my hab. She was being bullied by the other kids and you weren't around, so we went and got something to eat. Was wondering when you would come to find us."_

Salah growled at her own oversight, of course, the other children would act uncouth towards her! She had been spending the better part of three months being looked after a human for Isha's sake! The only reason they hadn't bullied her till now was them being scared of the Mon'keigh warrior that seemed to follow the girl like a shadow.

"... Fine. I will be at your hab momentarily." she finished, shutting off the vox before he could retort.

She spent a mere five minutes power-walking towards Michael's hab, and when she opened the door - without knocking - she walked in on a peculiar sight. Michael sat on the floor with his left arm detached and laying in front of him, bits and pieces of metal having been removed and placed neatly on the floor. All the while Kiara was fiddling with the parts inside, asking questions and examining the parts. They didn't even register Salah's presence until she cleared her throat to announce her arrival.

The two of them looked towards where the Exarch stood, and Kiara immediately adopted a frown. Michael chuckled and instructed Kiara to begin putting his arm back together while he talked with Salah.

Salah's brain meanwhile had screeched to a halt somewhat. She looked at where Michael's shoulder had once been, but now there seemed to only be a piece of a metal joint where the arm connected to his body. It dawned on her that it was because of her - through no fault of her own mind you - that he bore such an injury.

"So, what exactly happened? Why'd you leave Kiara alone like that?" He asked, leaning against the wall on his good shoulder.

Salah blinked herself away from her earlier train of thought to the present, "I have other duties outside of being a caretaker for her. I was simply relying on a girl her age normally being capable of looking out for herself, but evidently I was wrong." she explained.

Michael scoffed, "Come on, you can't honestly say you didn't expect the other kids not to bully her could you?" he asked, getting a blank stare in response. His eyes widened and his jaw went a bit slack, "... Frakk you actually didn't think that far ahead."

Salah sighed, "Much as it pains me to admit it I am rather new to being a caretaker. The experience has been… enlightening." she offered.

"Sure, 'enligtening,' let's go with that. Still, what made you think it was a good idea to leave her alone in the first place? Even if she wasn't an easy target for bullying, she's still only four freaking years old!" he chastised the Exarch, all sense of self-preservation seemingly absent from his mind.

Salah growled at his remarks, made even worse by the fact that he was right. Much as she may not admit it, she really shouldn't have expected as much out of the girl as she did. She was only a few passes old, nothing even reaching the warriors under her command. It was a sobering thought somewhat, but any positives were immediately sapped away when Michael opened his mouth.

"I mean yeah she'd smarter than most of them, but even humans have a tendency to pick on the smart ones," he explained.

Salah sighed, her posture weakening. It was humiliating that on Human was able to pick apart and understand a situation so easily when she herself couldn't put it together until he'd pointed it out. Was she so self-absorbed that she couldn't see the effects of her negligence?

"I must admit, I was not aware of such things. I have… not spent much time around children, and I believe you have broadened my awareness somewhat. Th… Thank you." she said. She frowned slightly, wondering why it had been so difficult to thank him. It wasn't as if she was admitting defeat, was it?

Michael chuckled, "Don't think anything of it. All things considered, it wasn't that big of a deal. I mean, I found her didn't I?"

Salah looked toward Kiara, the young girl putting the last few pieces of Michael's arm back together, "I suppose you did." she admitted.

Why had the girl gotten so attached to Michael, she wondered? He was strong, yes, but he was also reckless, stupid, and…

Salah hesitated in imagining her string of insults, realizing that for all of his faults, it was because of them that he had saved her life. He had pulled her out of the clutches of a servent of She-who-thirsts and had pulled her away from the battle when her injuries had kept her from going on. He had saved her twice, both times by putting himself at risk. He had prioritized her safety above his own.

Had that been what drew Kiara to him? The knowledge that no matter what happened, he would protect her? She had heard the stories, from the other soldiers to Elirom's briefing. He had found Kiara in the clutches of a group of cultists in the process of violating her mother's corpse and destroying her mother's spirit stone. In response to the situation, he hadn't left the girl to her fate like any other human would have, instead, he'd saved her.

And when Michael stood facing Lucius the Eternal, Kiara had fought to save him, to repay her debt to him. And when Lucius turned to face her, Michael had once again done the Impossible. He had killed Lucius the Eternal out of no other drive than to protect the young girl.

He protected people. Nothing more, nothing less.

"It's finished!" Kiara announced, struggling to lift the arm into the air. Truth be told, the augmetic probably weighed almost as much as she did.

Michael laughed at her antics, walking over and reattaching the limb. The limb slid into place with a hiss and a loud click, and Michael flexed the limb experimentally, raising an eyebrow, "Oh? You didn't happen to do anything to it did you?" he asked.

Kiara shuffled her feet in response, looking mildly nervous, "I… I fixed the nerve lines, they were all connected to one cable, instead of spreading out as they should be. I-it supposed to make it move more fluidly." She explained, making Michael chuckle.

"Well, I'd say it worked," Michael said as he flexed his metallic fingers.

Kiara beamed, happy that she could help. Salah wondered where she had learned to work on human tech with such proficiency, but she simply chalked it up to her spending so much time around Michael.

"Guess those lessons with Matthias actually paid off."

And for what felt like the thousandth time that day, Salah couldn't help but wonder why Cegorach had seen fit to make her the butt of his joke.

"I'm sorry… what?" Salah asked, all sense of manners completely lost.

"Oh, that's right you didn't know. Well, I managed to convince Matthias to come down to the craftworld to do maintenance on my arm. When he was down here, Kiara took an interest in what he was doing and asked if she could help, and while I'm pretty sure he was a bit freaked out at first, it didn't take to much convincing to get him to let her at least watch." Michael explained with a laugh, "Eventually it got to the point where he was teaching her how the whole thing worked outright. When I talked to him about it later he'd explained that she had the mind of true Tech Adept. He started coming down from then on to do maintenance and has been teaching Kiara every time he's down here. Heck, she's basically taken apart and put back together every piece of machinery in the hab, along with anything Matthias brings with him."

Salah was struggling to comprehend what was being told to her. Kiara had taken a liking to human technology? When? Why? How? It made her mind spin, and she wasn't sure she knew what to make of the situation. When she looked t the young girl, she saw Kiara blushing furiously at Michael's praise.

"And… you say that she's actually good at it?" Salah asked.

"Heh, she'd more than good at it. Matthias said that if she were human he'd take her on as an apprentice. He still might, if he can build up the courage to ask Elirom and the council doesn't get in the way." Michael explained, "He was surprised when I told him she was only four. I swear it was like he had stars in his eyes."

Salah, whether from frustration, confusion, exhaustion, or some combination of the three, decided that she had been through enough of humanities nonsense for one day, "Well… I suppose I cannot fault her curiosity. With that out of the way then, I suppose it is time we leave. Kiara, I would like you to take whatever belongings you have here and pack them up, alright?"

Kiara hesitantly nodded but didn't move.

"Kiara?" Salah asked curiously.

"Is… is it alright if I stay here? J-just for the night…" she asked fearfully.

Salah blinked, unsure of what to say. When she looked into Kiara's eyes, she couldn't shake this… unknown, terrible feeling. The girl's bottom lip trembled, and tears had begun forming in the corners of her wide, adorable eyes. Kiara's heart felt like it was slowly, ever so painfully being ripped apart. That look on her face… she would have to be worse than a twisted Drukhari if she said no to such a look.

"I… suppose that would be alright, if only just for the night."

The genuine smile that broke out on Kiara's face warmed Salah's heart in the way only a child's smile could, and the warm embrace that came from the sheer joy Kiara felt made Salah feel she made the right choice.

[-]

 **986.M41 Raxis Prime**

Jarod smiled as he read over the forces Karev still commanded. Twenty thousand men, ten regiments. There were only a dozen artillery pieces that could be salvaged, and only one dedicated tank regiment, but it was still more than enough for Karev to declare it his own personal army.

The Commanders hadn't been all that happy at first, but the fact that it was an Inquisitor that was requisitioning them was more than enough to convince them. Officially they were branded as the 1st Inquisitorial Raxis Army, with each regiment bearing its original planet and number. Of the five ships in orbit excluding Karev's ship _Reverent Purity_ and the _Emperor's Boot_ , only one of them was requisitioned, a transport ship with the title _Golden Path_.

Each of these ships would be for the 1st Inquisitorial Raxis Fleet, while the rest would leave to go back to continue fighting.

When the time was right, he gathered the ten commanders of the 1st Inquisitorial Raxis army, as well as the captain of the _Golden Path_ together to discuss the future. The room they all sat in was heavily decorated, with a red carpet floor and tan painted walls. Red curtains with gold embroidery hung from the walls framing pictures depicting military commanders and the height of their greatest victories. A long wooden table stretched the length of the room, with the commanders sitting on either side and Karev at the head of the table.

The commanding officers talked amongst themselves, some hoping to ignore the Inquisitor outright. Much as they might try, however, that was simply an impossibility. Despite Jarod's flippant attitude towards Karev, the man did radiate a sense of dread.

His black trenchcoat and white gloves made him look like a noble, and the golden chain that hung from his shoulder and coat was only outshone by the inquisitorial rosette that hung from it. His green eyes would stare into anyone's soul as if he were somehow judging you. His blonde hair and clean-shaven face made him appear far younger than he actually was, often allowing him to surprise those around him with his intellect and experience.

The only person that was completely unaffected by his stare was Jarod Carolinus. He at first attributed this fact to his status as a Rogue Trader, as they were known to be… eccentric, at the best of times. He soon learned just how different Jarod was. A man such as him would have no difficulty staring into the eye of terror itself, and Jarod had no qualms in proving that fact.

He sat at the opposite end of the table, holding what Karev assumed to be a vox-bead in his left hand, examining it idly. His bored expression hid what was truly going on in his mind, and Karev sometimes wished he were psychic if only so he could see the inner workings of Jarod's mind. Regardless, the room fell silent as Karev cleared his throat.

"I thank you all for attending this meeting, as we will all be working closely together in the near future. I feel it appropriet to introduce you all to our new… benefactor, of a sort." Karev explained, gesturing to Jarod.

Jarod nodded, and set the vox-bead on the table, "I'm not sure how many of you saw me during the battle, but my name is Jarod Carolinus, Rogue Trader and captain of the _Emperor's Boot_. As of relatively recent knowledge, I am a significantly powerful psyker, though I am yet to be sanctioned or tested, I believe myself to be of Alpha level… or perhaps higher." He explained.

Many of the commanders tensed, with the exception of the oldest among them - Jerimiah, "You were the one to banish the greater daemon, were you not?" the old commander asked.

"I was. And though my memory is… scattered, at best, I am aware of my actions afterward." Jarod confirmed

Jerimiah nodded, turning to the rest of the room, "Well, considering his prowess on the battlefield, and the amount of restraint he has shown, I do not believe any of us have anything to fear. You, Captain Jarod, have shown that carry the Emperor's light in one form or another, that much is obvious. I for one have no qualms in this venture."

A handful of other commanders asked some questions about Jarod's abilities and origins, but he kept himself fairly tight-lipped, not revealing anything about his dimensional travel, communion with Tzeentch, his status as a sensei, or his relationship with the Necron's and Eldar. In the end, all of the commanders finally agreed to fight under Karev's command.

Karev sighed as the commanders began leaving the room, with only himself and Jarod remaining.

"That went well I think," Jarod remarked.

Karev chuckled, "I think my self-confidence has taken a hit since I started working with you. I'm used to people cowering before my title as Inquisitor, whereas you simply shrug it off. I suppose given what you are that shouldn't be a surprise though."

"True enough… I have to ask though, have you ever heard of Sensei?" Jarod asked.

Karev leaned back in his chair, trying to recall any mention of the name, "No, I do not believe I have. Why do you ask?"

Jarod frowned, "That's good I suppose, but it does mean I will have to educate you. The Sensei, which is what I am, are the biological descendents of the Emperor himself." he said.

Karev's eyes went wide as dinner plates, but Jarod continued before he could ask any questions.

"I'm not sure how many of us are left in the galaxy, or if there are any. However, I am sure of who my enemies are. The Inquisitors of the Ordo Malleus, as well as many others, are known to hunt us down. They fear us as threats to their Imperial canon, that we are dangerous mutants that must be destroyed at all costs." he explained, "I personally disagree vehemently, but that is neither here nor there. We are completely incorruptible by chaos, and if nothing else that explains quite a lot." he said, rolling his eyes.

"I happen to be the great-grandson of the Emperor. And while I may only share an eighth of his power, I am by no means weak." He smirked, "I might even be able to keep the astronomican lit, were I to have access to the golden throne."

Karev attempted to wrap his mind around what Jarod had just explained. The Rogue Trader had been giving him bits and pieces of information ever since the battle, but up until now, he had never explained it so thoroughly. The revelation that Jarod could keep the astronomican alight in the absence of the Emperor was a startling one, as well as something that Karev was not equipped to deal with.

"What do you intend to do, then?" Karev asked, "You have an army at your back and the authority of an Inquisitor at your side. Quite frankly, you are now one of the most powerful people in the Imperium."

Jarod smiled, "Well, first, I believe I need to introduce you to some of my other allies."

[-]

 **AN: So, yeah, this chapter wanted to get written, as opposed to the last chapter. Michael and the Eldar get more character development, and Jarod finalizes his own allies and is now making his way back to the craftworld. Joy.**

 **Reviews!**

 **York52:** A very violent one.

 **Olav152:** Good, it was a 75. Joke fired from a spae marine bolter!

 **Ronmr:** Not at first she didn't, but once it was explained she got the gist.

 **Nxnhzhs:** Damage report?


	24. Chapter 24

**986.M41 The Emperor's Boot**

Karev stood eye to eye with the Eldar that had been aiding Jarod for a good long while now, examining him to the best of his ability. Farseer Elirom did the same, though his lack of helmet showed how much trust the Xenos put into Jarod's judgment. If the inquisitor had been so inclined, he could have shot Elirom and been done with it. However, he did not feel such action was necessary.

"I see Jarod has indeed been recruiting even more allies, just as predicted," Elirom spoke, nodding to the Inquisitor.

Karev returned the gesture, "I must admit that I did not expect him to have allied himself with an entire craftworld, and to know the location of one no less."

Elirom smirked, "Many of my kin do not believe in Jarod's ability, but I have seen into the distant future, and I can say without a doubt that he will be instrumental in destroying the ruinous powers and bringing peace to the galaxy."

"Then I suppose we are in agreement. I am Inquisitor Karev, of the Ordo Xenos."

"And I am Farseer Elirom, of Craftworld Aurorum III."

The two shook hands, and not for the first time nor the last, a deal was struck between the Inquisition and the Craftworld Eldar.

[-]

Jarod rubbed his eyes as he tried to take in the sight before him. As soon as he had landed a foot on the craftworld, he had booked it to Michael's hab. What he had not expected was to find Michael standing in the kitchen arguing with the howling Banshee Exarch.

Micheal stood at the fridge digging through it frantically, while Salah was digging through the cabinets.

"How do you not have any equivalent to milk!?" Michael asked frantically as he pushed several bottles and cartons around.

"I'm sorry, but my taste buds don't exactly work the same as yours! We've never had any of you to feed!" She said despondently, "And we're out of kor!"

Michael groaned, "Great, the only thing savory you have and we're out of it."

Kiara soon came out of a hallway carrying… was that a toaster?

"I finished fixing the toaster! It shouldn't burn the bread this time!" She announced.

Jarod blinked as he witnessed what could only be called a family frantically trying to get dinner cooked. Once Kiara had put down and plugged in the toaster, Michael pulled out a loaf of white-yellow… what Jarod thought was bread, as he started cutting it.

"What have I walked into?" Jarod muttered, just loud enough to be heard over the constant talking and arguing.

As one, everyone in the room halted in an instant and turned toward him. Michael dropped the knife he was using to cut the bead-like substance as a massive grin formed on his face. Salah paused pulling a sack of… something, out of the cabinet. And Kiara tilted her head to the side with a confused look on her face.

"You're back!" Michael said, before his smile fell, "Dang, I meant to have the pancakes done by now…"

Salah sighed, shoving the bag back into the cabinet, "I told you we shouldn't have even tried, we only got a half hours notice!" she chastised him.

"Yeah, yeah you did…" Michael admitted, before turning back to Jarod, "So… you're back! How'd it go?"

Jarod, for his part, tried to ignore the fact that Michael and Salah had been arguing like an old married couple, and were both in the same room together without trying to kill each other… and seemed to be used to the situation… and were cooking… ok, yeah, this was a bit too much to ignore.

"I… well… see, my mission went well, I got a couple more ships, a few thousand more men, Karev's here, and I'm a sensei… ok, when did you two get married!?" he asked, giving up on trying to make sense of the situation.

Michael and Salah both blushed, and Kiara seemed to giggle slightly, "They're not married!" the little girl informed him, saving both of them from a great deal of embarrassment.

"Kiara you little angel…" Michael muttered under his breath.

Salah sighed, "For your information, I have been spending exorbitant amounts of time here due to Kiara's inability and refusal to go elsewhere." she explained.

Jarod blinked and turned to Michael, who simply shrugged, "Apparently she has nightmares whenever I'm not nearby. So, she's been sleeping over here most of the time while Salah comes in to check on her when she's not busy."

"Wait, when did Salah become a factor?" Jarod asked.

Michael blinked, before facepalming, "Oh, duh! That happened after you left. Well, long story short the council made her Kiara's official caretaker, so, officially at least, she's supposed to be living with her. Aside from that though, she's pretty much just been living here while Salah does her Exarch stuff." he explained.

"Well, I guess that explains all… this. Is that a toaster?" Jarod asked, pointing to the object Kiara had set on the counter.

"Uh, yeah. So, Kiara's lessons with Matthias actually did a lot more than we expected. I mean, she's basically become a mini techpriest, building and repairing all sorts of stuff." Michael said, giving Kiara a head pat. Kiara beamed.

"Huh. Whadda you know." Jarod remarked, "In any case, Michael, we have a _lot_ to talk about."

Excusing themselves to a private room, Jarod went on to explain everything that had transpired on the planet of Raxis Prime. From the greater daemon, the chaos space marines, their newfound allies, to his meeting with the Emperor of mankind. Not much had phased Michael since he'd killed Lucius and survived, but hearing that Jarod was actually a Sensei made him go bug-eyed.

"So wait… doesn't that mean your like, a daemon prince of the Emperor? Or can become one at the very least?" Michael asked.

Jarod shook his head, "Not quite. The Emperor, much as the rest of humanity would disagree, isn't a god. Though he's close, if what we know of Chaos is correct. Regardless, he gave us a mission, and I intend to see it through, as we were kinda on our way to doing it anyway."

Michael raised an eyebrow inquisitively.

"Our mission is to wipe the Chaos from existence."

[-]

Matthias didn't hate xeno-tech. Quite the opposite, actually, he found it quite fascinating. Being surrounded by no other technology than the aforementioned xeno-tech, however? That was a bit much.

The craftworld of Aurorum III was definitely an interesting place, but Matthias found himself stifled by it on more than one occasion. The Eldar had no respect for the Machine god, though that was to be expected he supposed. The Machine god was a deity that it seemed only the members of the Mechanicus truly venerated, as even others in the Imperium saw the machine cult as something distasteful.

Besides, if his information was sound, the Eldar had their own version of the machine god, as heretical as that may sound. Vaul, a mere name to Matthias, but a venerated god among the Aeldari. He was supposedly the creator of all technological and architectural wonders that the Eldar were capable of, though Matthias himself was ignorant of many details. Jarod had attempted to explain the Eldar pantheon but admitted he wasn't all that knowledgable himself.

Michael had actually been of more help on that front.

Somehow, the augmetic bearing soldier had found out quite a lot of information on the Eldar pantheon and explained a great deal for the techpriest. Essentially, when the Eldar birthed the chaos god Slaanesh - a fact that repulsed Matthias to no end, and made him even more disgusted by the ancient Xenos - their pantheon was almost completely consumed by the dark prince.

The only remaining gods of the Eldar were Isha, who remained in the gardens of Nurgle as his captive. Cegorach, the god of laughter, who remained in the black library commanding his Harlequins in some twisted performance. And finally, Khaine, the Eldar god of war and bloodshed. The techpriest had almost mistaken the Khaine for his chaotic mirror, Khorne, but Michael was quick to point out that despite the similarities, the two were different beings.

These revelations, along with the long tale Michael had explained to him, made Matthias oddly… sympathetic, to the dying race. Their great empire had been torn asunder, and by their own mistakes no less. They simply wished to return to the glory days, in some vain hope that they could somehow rebuild their empire and claim their place as the dominant species in the galaxy.

"They're arrogant fools, there's no arguing that," Michael had explained, "But… in the end, it's not their fault. Their ancestors were the ones that disagreed with the debauchery that their people had sunk into, and so they left."

Matthias couldn't help but find that he agreed with that last statement. He had a hard time blaming little Kiara after all. What part of her races fall was her fault, when she wasn't even alive to see it? It was like asking why the Horus Heresy could be his own fault. Which was why he stood where he did.

"Matthias… you are aware of what this entails, are you not?" Elirom asked as the two of them stood outside a massive building.

"I am well aware, Farseer," Matthias admitted, before muttering in binary. He may have a full human face, but he still had a vox-caster embedded on his neck, "Were I within Imperial borders I would be committing heresy of the highest order. Omnissiah forgive me, I might still be, but I am determined to show your people what they are blind to. Besides, it's not like she would be unprotected."

Elirom sighed, nodding at the techpriests logic. Much as his pride would deny it, he would admit that even the best of their race was blind to many of the things happening around them. Perhaps, should his idea work, Matthias and Michael could bring their two races one step closer to… well, not peace, he supposed, but something akin to it.

Matthias stood rigid, his red robes hanging off his form in the formal fashion of Mars, and his hood lowered, revealing his pale skin, auburn hair and grey eyes. Silver and black lines ran through the left side of his jaw, a clear sign of the augments he had willingly received.

Stepping forward, he opened the doors in front of him, Matthias following close behind. The room he found himself in was large, much like an amphitheater. A long walkway led to the center of the room, surrounded by seating all filled with high ranking Aeldari. Above him, seven seats stood, with each of them housing one member of Aurorum III elected council.

It felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes were watching his every movement, silently judging everything he did and forming a structured opinion of him before he spoke a single word. Elirom had all but outright said that was what each of them would do, and that Matthias had to be extremely careful.

Taking the Farseers advice to heart, he stood stock straight and kept a neutral expression on his face. Even then, the Eldar in the room could probably still read him like an open and shut book. Regardless, he kept his head held high and his mind focused. He was here to acquire an apprentice, nothing more, nothing less.

When he stood upon the platform, silence reigned. It almost felt more like a courtroom, more than anything else. He wondered if that was indeed what it was meant for.

"Matthias. Techpriest of Mars. Human." One of the council members spoke, his act of using Matthias' own name and race instead of the Eldar equivalent of 'animal' showed either a great level of respect or an even greater amount of self-control.

"You come to us with a request. You seek to take on the child Kiara as an apprentice."

Matthias held back the urge to grimace, his face instead remaining completely neutral. He knew that the council had ways to find out his request long before he'd even made it. Be they mind readers, fortune tellers, or something else, he didn't know, but in the long run, it really didn't matter, save for the fact that they knew of his request long before he'd made it.

"That is correct," he stated in a completely monotone, emotionless, toneless voice.

The Eldar that had spoken glared at him, but he did not give in to intimidation so easily.

"What gives you the gall to even ask such a question?" a different councilman asked.

Matthias looked him dead in the eye before delivering his answer, "I am capable of teaching the girl more in the span of a year than your teachers could in a decade, or perhaps even a century." he explained confidently.

The crowd was sent into an uproar, yet the council remained eerily silent. Many called in loud voices, their beautiful language marred by the obscenities they were speaking and the demands they were making.

The head councilman simply raised a hand, silencing the crowd, "You believe you could teach her better. Yet she is Aeldari, and you are human. What could you teach her that we cannot?"

Matthias smiled within his own mind, "Mortality." he said simply.

The crowd, which up to that point had still been murmuring and discussing the situation passionately, went dead silent.

"Explain."

"I, as well as every other human she has been in contact with, has been and will continue to teach her mortality. She has had to face such a thing already, even at her tender age. She has stared into the eyes of death itself, not just as we humans do, but in a far worse fashion. She faced being devoured by she-who-thirsts." he explained, being careful to use the Aeldari name for the god of perversion.

The crowd once again erupted into murmuring, but this time it seemed as though it was more in awe than anything else.

Matthias continued, "She has faced ultimate damnation, the likes of which even we mere humans have trouble comprehending. But because of this, she has already learned more about mortality than much of your race will ever know."

The councilmen remained silent. The air was tense, and the crowd was deafeningly silent. As one, the council stood, raising their hands forward. They spoke something in Aeldari, something that Matthias thought sounded like a verse, prayer, or proverb.

When they finished, they set their arms down, and all but the center councilmen sat down.

"We have come to a decision. You, Matthias, are to take Kiara as your apprentice, along with Michael Eden as her guardian alongside Howling Banshee Exarch Salah," he announced.

Matthias, with one slip of self-control, smiled.

[-]

 **986.M41 The Warp**

The clanking of armor was the only announcement the mortal's and space marine's alike had of the arrival of their lord, Magnus the red. Standing at almost four meters in height, the daemon Primarch towered over anyone and everyone he passed as he walked down the halls of his warship. It felt… good, to do this again.

To stand over those who served him, to actually _do_ something rather than just sit around and merely study the warp. Perhaps it would do him some good to get out more… it would certainly be a change of pace, pun oh so intended.

Magnus blinked as he halted his own train of thought. When did he become so… cheerful? Yes, there was the arrival of the Sensei, but that was something that would more than likely be more of a nuisance than anything else. What was happening, was Tzeentch trying to alter his own mind?

In the back of his head, he could hear the giant squid-faced moron laughing, and in such a tone that communicated he was indeed not the one altering Magnus' mindset. It made him wonder what in the warp was going on.

Changing his course, he headed toward his personal sanctum in order to converse with the god of change. He could of course simply teleport there, or simply speak with Tzeetch where he stood, but he was feeling nostalgic. He entered the glass pyramid that formed his sanctum, similar in structure to his sanctum back during the great crusade. Perhaps he was getting sentimental.

Entering the sanctum, he closed his eyes, and let his power flow through him, let his soul be barraged by the collective emotions and energies of the warp. He soon found himself standing in an open, blue plain, with the squid himself floating not ten meters away.

" **So… I see you've noticed."** The blue daemon stated, his voice a shuffled collage of sounds, all forming into a single voice.

" **I would be lying if I said I didn't know what you were talking about. What exactly have you done? Or if not you, then what is causing the changes to my psyche?"** Magnus asked plainly.

The shifting mass of tentacles, eyes, and limbs twisted about for a moment, before finally settling on a form that was… not exactly pleasant to look at.

" **Ooooh! So you really have no idea? Or maybe you do, and you just came to me for confirmation? Or perhaps you have some idea, but want me to clarify?"**

Magnus grimaced, **"I know better than most that you of all beings would refuse to give me a straight answer even if it was in your best interest. All I want to know is what. Is. happening to me."**

If it was possible for a god to smile, then Tzeentch just did.

" **Ohohohoh, but then what fun would you and your nephew have left?"**

Magnus' eyes widened a bit at the implications. Was he going to come into contact with loyalist Astartes in the near future perhaps?

" **Not quite."**

Magnus glared at Tzeentch but took note of his answer. So, if not the Astartes, then… he idly considered the possibilities of his siblings having offspring of their own, however, Tzeetch's burst of mocking laughter quickly dispersed that line of thought.

Was it possible that the Sensei was involved? Did they have children of their own perhaps?

The fact that Tzeentch had gone deathly silent made Magnus crack a smile, **"So, they are involved then."**

" **Hmmm… you're beginning to catch on, but you're** _ **not quite there yet…"**_

Tzeentch's form began to fade, his last cryptic words making Magnus ponder just who this Sensei could be. The fact that they had revealed themselves to the Imperium, but to an Inquisitor no less, meant that they might be ignorant of their own existence, or perhaps they had some kind of power move in place.

It was impossible to tell, but Magnus smiled at the challenge.

[-]

 **A/N: So yeah, this chapter was a lot of fun to write. I got to write more Magnus, as well as adorable Kiara. Also, Matthias is getting Kiara to be his apprentice while Michael is her guardian. Predictable, I know, but this fic started out as essentially crack, and no matter what I do, there will always be some elements of that to it.**


	25. Chapter 25

**AN: So, this chapter was meant to be a bit longer, but I decided to cut a bit at the end for reasons that will become obvious. Hope you guys enjoy.**

[-]

 **987.M41 Unknown daemon world**

Magnus the red stood over the daemon world just outside the eye of terror. The Imperials had long since given up trying to reclaim the world after the greater daemon's had begun pouring out of the warp rifts that covered the world. A handful of the daemon's not belonging to Tzeetch still wandered the landscape of the planet, causing trouble wherever they went, but for the most part, the planet belonged to the god of change.

Vast crystalline libraries filled with forbidden knowledge spanned miles of the planet's terrain, with avian mutants and daemons trying desperately to learn all they could. To any mere mortal, it was a brilliant sight. To the crimson daemon, it was a reminder. A reminder that Tzeentch was the one that pulled the strings, keeping the knowledge hidden from those on the planets surface eternally, constantly changing the records, paths, and halls.

He grimaced as he watched one of the many corrupted Astartes wander through the libraries. The man had been searching for eternity, since the days of the heresy, trying in vain to find the answers he was searching for.

This was but one example of the millions of souls that wandered the libraries of the planet.

"My Primarch," one of his sons stated, kneeling behind him, "The catalyst is in its final preparations, all we require is your word."

Magnus nodded to the Astartes in question, before teleporting down to the planet's surface. The catalyst, a great blue, glass spire that stood miles high. The physics of the object would normally be called into question, but due to the malignant nature of the warp, such concepts as gravity and balance were quickly thrown aside.

He stood at the base of the spire, the door leading into it standing at over a dozen meters tall. He pushed the doors open, their weight being meaningless compared to his strength as both a Primarch and a Daemon Prince.

The room inside stretched all the way to the top of the spire, with pitch darkness looming over him. The size of the room was completely deceptive, being far larger on the inside than it was on the outside. While the diameter on the outside was only a kilometer at most, the inside was far larger, reaching almost ten kilometers.

The floors and walls were made of a reflective, crystalline material which mirrored the Primarch's crimson form, the entire room lighting up a crimson red as he was reflected by each and every surface. At the center of the room stood a tall pedestal, standing at almost three meters in height. To the Primarch's massive form, this was waist hight.

A single handprint, just large enough to fit Magnus' current form sat at the center of the pedestal. Reaching forward, the Primarch pressed his hand into the pedestal. Less than a second passed before a bright beam of blue energy shot up from the ground, consuming the pedestal, Magnus, and almost the entirety of the room. The beam continued upward, reaching higher and higher until it reached the top of the spire.

The spire's top was a mass of misaligned crystal, which caused the massive beam of energy to split, sending bright beams of psychic energy flying across the galaxy. Many of these beams hit their intended targets, sending a psychic signal to dozens of rogue warbands. Some, connected with other daemon worlds which had similar, if smaller, spires constructed upon them. These spires redirected the message, sending them in different directions. Some of these were a warning, others, misinformation, and others still a desperate gamble.

But there was one that Magnus had utter confidence in and the only one that he personally guided. This message went to a ship of Imperial origin, an amusingly named ship known as the _Emperor's Boot_ , its goal to open a line of communication to the one being in the galaxy Magnus felt he could start fresh with, perhaps.

They were Imperial, yes, but that did not mean they couldn't be turned. They were one of the Emperor's own offspring, a sensei. In a way, his half brother.

True, his relative was anathema to his very being, but Tzeentch himself at least claimed to have held a conversation with him. And besides, he only purged Chaos when he chose to, it was not a constant thing.

There were many myths associated with the Sensei, some saying they were invisible to chaos, others saying they were born of it, and yet more still claiming that they were the Emperor reborn. Magnus personally didn't believe any of these, determined to see what his fathers machinations had done for his own mind's eye.

[-]

"Again!" Lucius yelled as Michael dodged a strike from his blade. The two danced, swinging swords that under normal means would be considered the most dangerous things in the galaxy.

Jarod sat on the sidelines, drinking… something, from a ceramic mug. He wasn't sure what exactly he was drinking, but it was good enough that he didn't bother to check. In his other hand, he held a data-slate, scrolling through bits of information he had been given by inquisitor Karev.

Michael grunted as Lucius swept his legs out from under him, the imitation of the Laer blade striking hard enough to break bones, were Michael's legs not protected from such things. Michael groaned, looking up at the empty white sky that made up his mind-scape.

Just under a year ago, he had been named Kiara's official caretaker, and Matthias her forge master. From Matthias, she would learn the technology and mechanics of Humanity. Michael and Salah would at least attempt to give her some semblance of normalcy in terms of home life.

When she received the official news, Salah had all but demanded Michael learn how to use a sword properly. For weeks the two of them had trained, the more experienced and agile Eldar dancing circles around Michael as he attempted to stand his ground. Sufficed to say, he failed miserably.

He didn't give up, however.

Lucius had offered to teach him how to use a sword, and the two would train in his own mind when he slept, slowly increasing his muscle memory and skill with a blade. He trained for days, and those days turned into weeks, those weeks, into months, and Michael began to noticeably improve, his skills showing whenever he and Salah sparred. Instead of mere seconds, their matches began lasting over a minute. Then three minutes. Then five. Then, Michael fought her to a draw.

By that point, many Eldar Howling Banshee's had begun to take notice of their spars. It disturbed many of them that a relatively unaugmented human was keeping up with, and even matching their Exarch. Many of them challenged Michael, desperate to prove to themselves that this Mon'keigh wasn't beginning to best their own superior.

They all lost.

Somehow, someway, Michael had managed to beat every single howling banshee on the craftworld in single combat, except the Exarch herself. He had only ever fought her to a draw.

It was that situation that led him to spar with the former champion of Slaanesh so vehemently. He had limited his own strength inside his own mind to that of his normal body, and even though he felt he never really would match the captain of the Emperor's Children in speed and strength, his skill was a noticeable trait.

"Remember, keep your feet moving, never let yourself be in one place for very long." Lucius chided as he helped Michael to his feet.

Michael gave a determined nod, before turning to Jarod, "Well, Jarod, what time is it?" Michael asked.

Jarod looked down at his data-slate idly, "About time for you to wake up. While you and Lucius have spent about a month here, it has been about seven hours in the real world."

Lucius laughed, "Well, it seems we've been getting sloppy in out time dilation." he remarked.

Michael rolled his eye's, "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Anyway, Jarod's right, I have another match with Salah as it is, and Kiara and I wanted to go get ice cream."

Jarod blinked as he realized what Michael said, "They have ice cream?" he asked.

Michael shrugged, "The Aeldari equivalent at any rate. Closer to yogurt really."

Jarod chuckled, "You truly will never cease to amaze me, Michael. When did you become a stay at home dad?"

Michael sputtered for a moment, before sighing as Jarod laughed, and Lucius' deep chuckled joined in. Michael glared at the space marine, "You don't have to be so smug about it you know, you're kinda stuck doing the same thing alongside me."

Lucius chuckled, "And yet I see what you cannot, the Exarch has been training, harder than you perhaps, to keep you from surpassing her."

Michael rolled his eyes, "Yeah, well I just so happen to have the greatest sword master to ever grace the face of the galaxy stuck in my head, I'm pretty sure your training beats out whatever she's doing."

Lucius chuckled, "A year ago I was the chosen champion of the Dark Prince, yet here I am, training you."

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," Michael uttered satirically.

"You know, it is rather unusual that you are able to keep up with the Exarch as well as you do, even managing to fight her to a draw." Lucius commented, changing the subject, "I wonder if your psychic abilities might be manifesting."

Jarod perked up at the mention of Michael's abilities, "What do you mean?"

"I mean that he may his power may be manifesting itself in some form of biomancy. He moves far faster, and is much more coordinated than any normal human should be, even inside his own mind. How else does he keep up with me?" he explained.

Michael put a hand to his chin, "So you're saying I'm some kind of Biomancer?" he asked.

Lucius shrugged, "It is merely a theory, nothing more."

After a few more minutes of banter, Michael decided he'd best wake up to prepare for his match with Salah. If he were to show up late it would be the end of his reputation.

Michael woke up in his bed inside the hab he and Kiara had been living in. Getting up, he quickly got dressed and walked into the kitchen to begin cooking breakfast. The kitchen table was covered in bits and pieces of metal, wiring, and circuitry, evidence of Kara's apprenticeship with Matthias.

Michael carefully moved them all to the side and began preparing a rudimentary breakfast: eggs and bacon. Or at least, as close as he could get with Eldar food on hand.

Much of the livestock the Eldar carried was similar to the Imperium's, the Grox, in particular, being a beast both species cultivated. Grox bacon was something Michael had to specifically ask for, as those he talked to had no idea what he's been talking about. The eggs were a bit easier, belonging to some kind of bird the Eldar kept - the thing actually looked closer to a duck than a chicken really.

Regardless, the food was good, and if the little ball of energy that came dashing out of her room was anything to go by, Kiara could smell it. The small, red-haired girl was wearing what amounted to a child-sized mechanicus robe. The red color, white checkered edges, and a hood, everything had been made to fit her. The only alteration was the lack of sleeves, something that she'd done herself when aforementioned clothing kept getting caught on the bits of metal she was constantly working on.

"Well good morning to you too!" Michael said with a laugh as Kiara sat down at the table.

"Morning! What's for breakfast?" She asked, knowing full well what Michael was cooking.

Michael smiled as he set the food on her plate, sliding it in front of her. The resounding awe in her voice was enough to make him chuckle. Kiara began devouring the food, muttering a 'thank you!' between bites.

Michael began to dig into his food as well, enjoying the foreign taste. Granted he's been eating food meant for Eldar for close to a year by now, but no matter how often he did he was always fascinated by the taste. The eggs themselves had a natural sweetness, in sharp contrast to the salty taste of the Grox bacon. Not a bad combination.

After the two finished eating hand washing up, they headed out toward the training ground. The stares people had given the two as they walked by had died off after the first few months, a strange sense of normalcy taking over.

They eventually reached the training ground, the guards at the entrance acknowledging their presence with a sharp nod. Michael and Kiara made their way through the compound until they heard the sounds of battle. Making their way toward the noise, they soon found themselves watching two Howling Banshee's duking it out.

They danced around each other, their 'training' swords glowing with energy. It was clear to anyone with knowledge of swordplay that the two had done this dance dozens of times before, dancing away from attacks before striking forward with one of their own.

To any normal human, it was something so quick and beautiful that they would have a difficult time keeping track of it. To someone like Michael, while still beautiful, he was able to spot the holes in their defense, or when they hesitated or pulled their strikes. A year of training to combat the Banshee's had given Michael an insight into their fighting style that few could match.

Finally, one gained the advantage over the other, their sword landing at the base of the other's neck. Once the two left the arena, those spectating started to glance toward Michael, some of them muttering in conversation.

Kiara glared at some of the ones who gave them dirty looks, but Michael focused on ignoring them. Instead, he walked over to a weapon rack and grabbed the largest, most unwieldy weapon available. It was still as light as a feather - in terms of weaponry - and as sturdy as adamantine. The three-foot blade was wider than most Eldar weapons, looking more like a medieval human arming sword than anything the Aeldari would make.

"I see your tastes haven't changed at all," Salah said from behind him.

He turned around, eyeing her armored form. Her wraithbone armor was something that he had seen far more in a year than most men would in their entire lifetime, something that made Michael chuckle.

Her twin power swords hung at her hips, the blades being two feet and two and a half feet for her left and right hands, respectively. They were outright deadly when she got going, and Michael had only barely managed to fight her to a draw, losing outright more often than not.

He hoped that would change today.

"A longer blade, still lightweight, and easily held in one hand? I'd be an idiot not to pick it up." He said with a grin.

Salah let out a 'hmph' before walking toward the arena. Much as the two of them might not hate each other's guts anymore, Salah's growing respect for Michael still hadn't reached 'friend' quite yet.

Stepping into the arena, Michael gave the weapon an experimental twirl, before gripping it firmly in his right hand. He activated his arms las-gun, setting it to the lowest setting. Not enough to harm, but enough to let you know you'd been hit. It was an agreement the two had come to almost immediately, as Salah used two weapons, whereas Michael only used one.

A handful of the matches had been conducted without his lasgun, but even still, he was skilled enough that Salah saw no reason to prohibit it. In his matches against other howling banshee's, a few had refused to let him use the weapon. He'd still won.

The two of them readied their stances, each standing on one end of the arena. A crowd of Eldar surrounded them, itching to see what would happen. A swift 'begin' from someone outside their attention signaled the beginning of the battle, and Salah launched herself forward.

Michael did the same, using the longer blade to block the downward strike by Salah, before sending a punch with his left arm toward her stomach. Salah backed off almost immediately, barely dodging the strike, while retaliating with one of her own. She thrust her longer blade forward, towards Michael's head, which he dodged easily. He swung his sword, going to hook her left arm from underneath, only for her to swiftly dodge to the side.

The two exchanged many blows, none landing or even coming close to doing anything approaching damage. The Aeldari around them had since lost their stalwart composure and were cheering, not only for Salah but for Michael as well. Yes, he was human, but he had worked to become their Exarch's equal. A handful of them had fought alongside him against the Emporer's Children, and now, they knew that he wasn't someone to be disrespected.

It was a miracle that Michael was able to keep up with her, as even though he was definately slower than the Eldar, his strikes held a larger amount of power, and combined with the fact that he used his lasgun to repost many attacks, it came out to him being able to hold his ground against the Exarch.

Michael's mind idly considered what Lucius had mentioned about him using biomancy subconsciously to keep up with Salah, and wondered if there was a way he could test it.

He thrust his sword forward, nicking the armor on her hip. He dodged one of her attacks, the blade whizzing by his face. He would have to consider the implications of the fact further once the battle ended, but it seemed as though Lucius might be right.

Normally, an Eldar was supposed to be far faster than any human, but Michael had been keeping up with her. When his blade scraped the edge of her shoulder, he realized suddenly that he was beginning to overtake her. Move for move, strike for strike, Michael was slowly wearing her down.

It finally ended with him tripping her up, literally, with his foot sweeping her legs out from under her and his sword stabbing the ground an inch away from her shoulder, his knee firmly planted on her stomach, and his lasgun pointed directly in her face.

Silence reigned as the crowd watched in awe, and with a face of unfaltering shock plastered onto Salah's face, "I yield." she said, simply and without flair.

The crowd erupted, some cheering, some cursing, others trying to make sense of what had happened. A Mon'keigh, a human, had bested their Exarch. An Aeldari who had been locked into their path, to be considered the best of the best. He had won.

Michael stepped off of her, pulling the blade out of the wraithbone floor. He held out a hand to the fallen Exarch, which after a moment of hesitation, she took. Michael hoisted her upward, grinning like a madman.

"Well, it seems like I finally won one of our little grudge matches." He said, his face beaming.

Salah blinked, looking at Michael's grinning visage. Within the confines of her own mind, she wondered when he had begun looking so… different. It was something she knew hadn't happened overnight either. His face hadn't changed per se, but it looked sharper as if it were… more real, for lack of a better phrase. His eyes burned with a passion she had seen in very few Aeldari, and even fewer humans. His brown hair and beard gave off a warm, friendly feeling, like a warm blanket.

Without thinking, acting on pure emotion, Salah fell forward, her smaller body leaning into his. She didn't even register the looks some of the other Eldar gave her, nor the whispers that started once Michael's blush had become clearly visible.

She was still in shock, barely functioning mentally, and had fallen into using Michael as a kind of emotional support. Her head spun with a thousand questions; some pertaining to how he had gotten so strong, some asking why he was picking her up bridal style, why she couldn't think straight, why she heard the distinct cheer of a child, why she felt the warm embrace of a bed…

All of these questions faded into nonexistence, however, when she heard his voice.

"You did good, now get some rest." He said, and she felt him plant a kiss on her forehead.

She was out like a light, not a minute later.

[-]


	26. Chapter 26

**AN: I may have to keep puttign the authors notes up here from now on if I keep this up… I will be the first to admit that I didn't expect writing the last part of this chapter, but, all things considered, I'm glad I wrote it the way I did.**

 **[-]**

 **985.M41 The Emperor's Boot**

Jarod sat on his bed, arms crossed and his face scrunched up in a frown. To many people, it would seem as though he was contemplating something, trying to answer a difficult question, or being frustrated with something. To any trained psyker, however, they would see the mass of warp energy that was trying so desperately to enter Jarod's mind. They would see the malignant intent of Tzeentch trying to observe, as well as the blue tendrils of eldritch energy surrounding him.

Within his own mind, Jarod stared the manifestation of the crimson Daemon prince, Magnus the Red. His crimson mane was held back by a golden crown. Red and blue feathered wings sprouted from his back, and blue tendrils of energy wrapped themselves around his body.

The tension in the room was so thick it was visible - an easy thing to do in the warp - as the two stared each other down.

"So, I see you've decided to try and contact me. Why aren't I surprised."

" **It seems you're not ignorant of the forces pulling the strings. Quite a step above your other allies."**

"It helps that I'm not an idiot and I don't read what passes for news in this galaxy… _Uncle._ "

Both of them swore they could hear a record scratch.

"... Great uncle? Granduncle? Grunkle? Yes, that will do, Grunkle it is."

For what seemed like a full minute, neither of them said anything.

" **I'm going to regret talking to you aren't I?"** the Primarch noted.

Jarod shrugged, "Probably. More of a yes and a no."

Magnus sighed, **"Wait a minute, uncle? Since when? Aren't you a Sensei, a son of the Emperor, my half-brother?"**

"It's Grunkle. Since I was born? Yes, I guess, and Sensei are the descendants of the Emperor be they his children, grandchildren, and so on."

" **If that is the case… I do suppose uncle-"**

"Grunkle."

" **\- would be the correct term. Be that as it may, my reason for contacting you remain unchanged. You were able to beat an army of Khorne's followers into submission almost on you're own, you are anathema to chaos, and you are quite familiar with the dark gods if Tzeentch's snickering is anything to go by."**

Jarod hummed, "Yeah, most of that's true. The squid was actually the one that removed whatever was keeping me from using my abilities, much to his own detriment. Regardless, What do you want with me?"

" **I am here to make you an offer, as well as to warn you of something. To do either of those things, however, would require you to travel to the daemon world that I am currently residing on."** The daemon primarch explained.

"And what's to say you won't just blow my ships to pieces once we get within range?" he asked, "Tzeentch is not above lying, and I doubt you are above it either."

The energy around Magnus seemed to bristle, **"I will have you know that I do not lie! I have nothing to gain by doing so, and you have everything to gain by accepting my offer!"**

Jarod chuckled, "Fine, I'll hear you out at least. What do you want, and what will you give me in return?"

" **I, unfortunately, cannot say much, as my consciousness is limited in contacting you over such a distance. Even now the connection is weakening,"** He explained, raising his now transparent hand, **"I will not be able to explain much beyond the fact that I can break the lock on your partner's power, and possibly more."**

Jarod's train of thought came to an instant halt, only made worse by the fact that Magnus' form was beginning to fade, "Wait! What are you talking about!? What do you mean you can unlock his power!"

Magnus laughed as he continued to fade, **"Come to the coordinates I have given you, and you shall have your answer."** He said, before finally slipping away.

Jarod's eyes snapped open as he cursed, slamming his fist into the bed. He was desperate to know what Magnus had been talking about, how he could possibly give Michael full use of his abilities. Lucius' explanation of Michael using his abilities subconsciously had given Jarod some hope that he could be close to unlocking them on his own, but still… if Magnus could unlock his powers immediately, then it might be worth going to the coordinates that were burned into his mind.

[-]

Matthias tapped his foot as he waited for his apprentice to arrive. He knew that Kiara had gone to watch whatever duel had been set up between the Exarch and Michael, but he began to wonder what was taking them so long.

When Kiara came running around the corner of the building carrying her sack of projects and studying material, it became clear she didn't think it would take that long either.

"I'm sorry I'm late! Da- Michael, finally beat the Exarch in a duel!"

Matthias' brow raised at Kiara's sentence, for multiple reasons. It was not the first time she had almost called Michael her father, and whether she realized it or not, she had actually slipped up a handful of times and outright called him 'dad' in conversation. She was far more careful about it when talking with Michael, but she seemed to lose that filter when speaking with Matthias.

It was very likely that she was nervous Michael wouldn't accept it. A strange thought for a child her age to have, but Matthias filed the oddity under 'Eldar Oddities', a mental file that had grown quite large in the last year. Even so, Matthias wondered just when she might slip up around Michael.

The man had a bleeding heart, and would most definitely _not_ reject her, that much Matthias knew. He wondered if he should try to speed the process along, but decided against it. They would sort it out in time.

The second part of her sentence was what surprised him. Michael managing to beat the Exarch in melee combat was something that Matthias hadn't considered possible, Eldar biology was simply too agile for a human to keep up with. And yet, here Kiara claimed that he had actually beaten her.

"He actually won?" the techpriest asked curiously.

Kiara nodded happily, "He did! She was so surprised she totally collapsed right into his arms!" She said with a giggle, "He took her back to our house, she's sleeping there now."

Matthias laughed, _'bold move,'_ __he thought to himself.

"Well, if you're quite done with that, I do believe the fabricators need their maintenance done," Matthias said with a grin.

At this, Kiara grimaced before shuffling onto the transport headed to the Emperor's Boot. Once onboard, Matthias began instructing her on how to repair and maintain the fabricators, among other things. Once they finished maintenance, they moved on to study work, reconstruction, and a number of other aspects of the Mechanicus teachings.

Kiara herself held a natural talent for such things, learning at a faster rate than even Matthias himself had when he was an acolyte. It might have been her age, or her species, but Matthias would be the last person to complain about such things.

Finally, toward the end of the day, they approached Matthias' personal project.

"Wow…" Kiara muttered, staring up at the Astartes battle-plate. The Armor itself had been almost completely repaired, save for the arm that had been destroyed beyond repair. If Matthias had access to ample supply of ceremite and adamantium he would have replaced the thing, but alas, he would have to visit a forgeworld to gain access to such materials.

"It is a marvelous sight indeed. Holy Astartes wargear, designed and built to serve the Emperor's angels." Matthias explained.

Kiara took a step forward, placing a hand on the kneecap. She stared up at the chest piece, the emblazoned skull and wings peering down at her. The silver pauldron shone magnificently, reflecting the room around them.

To Kiara, it was something that she dreamed of dismantling and putting back together, just to see if she could understand how it functioned.

"It's amazing," she uttered, "it's rough, like all human tech, but it's more than that."

Matthias looked down at her with a puzzled expression, "What do you mean?" he asked curiously.

"Well, everything the bonesingers and artisans make is curved, smooth, and something that expresses the old ways of the Aeldari, the emotion, the… hubris, hiding the inner workings that aren't nearly as beautiful as the outside shell," she explained, "But, this, and almost everything else you've shown and taught me… it's the complete opposite. Your technology has nothing to hide, the machine spirits bear their rough, inelegant appearance with pride. It is beauty all to its own."

Matthias' heart swelled with pride of his own. Her explanation, far wiser than her age should allow her to be, was exactly what he had strived to teach her. He'd known from experience that Eldar technology had surpassed mankind's on many fronts, but that did not make it obsolete, or even inferior. Kiara recognized that and was in awe of such a thing.

"You exactly correct, Kiara. It is a mirror of both Mankind and the Aeldari. Your race has had eons to grow, develop, invent, and explore. At the height of their empire, the Aeldari believed there had learned all there was to know." He carefully refused to mention their fall, "But, mankind has only lived a fraction of that time. We are a much younger race, still learning. The machine god and the Omnissiah may guide us, but we will always have so much more to learn. Where the Eldar are refined and polished, we are rough and uncut."

Kiara nodded in understanding, "That does not diminish your value, it only means you must grow to fit your potential."

Matthias smiled, "Kiara, I believe you are the first of your race to truly understand such a concept. It is my honor for you to be my apprentice, to be one of the few to bridge the gap between our kind."

Kiara grinned devilishly, "Well, I hope you don't mind what I built in my free time." she said, rushing over to her bag.

Matthias' eyed her inquisitively as she opened her bag, before pulling out a device that Matthias blink in surprise. It was a data-slate, clearly of Imperial design, but when she turned it on it was clear she had programmed it to use the Aeldari language. Setting the device to the side, she pulled out the inner workings servo-skull, much to Matthias' surprise. Setting those on the ground, she pulled out what looked like a frame made from an Aeldari helmet.

She placed the servo-skull innards inside the frame, both being reworked to fit each other. Setting it on the ground a few feet away, she picked up the data-slate again and began pressing a handful of keys on it. Almost immediately, the device lit up and began floating in the air. Kiara let out a cheer of victory.

"It works!" she exclaimed, watching as her piece of tech-heresy approached Matthias.

Matthias leaned back slightly as the thing floated a few inches from his face before it backed up to about half a meter. The device hummed, and Matthias turned around to see Kiara inputting a command of some kind. When she finished, the servo-helmet spoke.

" _I am unit 1.0 belonging to Kiara. Orders requested,"_ it said in a monotone voice.

Matthias looked at Kiara with a smile on his face, "You made this yourself?" he asked.

She beamed, "I took some of the parts you had lying around on your workstation, as well as one of the Exarch's old helmets, and made this! I also programmed a speaker inside it, as well as a text to speech program inside the data-slate. I've programmed a few lines for it to say whenever it's asked a question, or when it's given an order." She explained.

Matthias nodded in approval, "Well done Kiara! I must admit I hadn't realized you'd learned the inner workings of a servo-skull so quickly."

She tilted her head slightly, "Servo-skull?" she asked.

Matthias waved a hand, "We don't have any on this ship, unfortunately, though I suppose the Inquisitor might have one… regardless, I think it best if you ask Michael about such things."

Kiara shrugged and returned to playing with her new invention.

[-]

Salah awoke slowly, something that normally didn't happen. Usually, her alarm would wake her up at a time the Michael had described as 'unholy hours of the morning'. She sat up as best she could, her entire body aching as if she had been working for a dozen hours. She looked around the room she was in, finding that it wasn't her own. The bedsheets were an aqua-blue color and were arguably much more comfortable than her own.

The room itself was rather unremarkable, as it looked like a fairly standard living space. She wondered what exactly had happened that caused her to pass out in someone else's room, on their bed. Her armor was set off to the side of the room, piled up rather lazily. Looking down she noticed that she was wearing little more than her underwear, and she idly wondered if she had undressed herself or if someone else had. Aside from that, however, her arms and torso were covered in bruises. When she looked at her armor again, she noted the battered appearance.

She struggled to remember what had happened the day before, but couldn't figure it out. Until the door opened.

Michael quietly opened the door, "Oh! You're awake!" He said when he saw her sitting up, before immediately blushing and backing out of the room.

Salah wondered why he had done that for a millisecond, before looking down at her undressed state and letting out a uncharacteristically high-pitched 'eep!' and pulled the sheets up to cover herself. She was blushing furiously, though she was thankful Michael had the presence of mind to back out of the room.

A soft nock on the door reminded her that he was still there, "You decent?" his muffled voice asked.

"I- Yes, for now at least." She said.

The door opened again, slower, with Michael peeking around it. When he saw that she had indeed covered herself he let out a sigh of relief, "Ok, not getting castrated…" he muttered to himself.

Salah looked at him curiously, his presence jogging her memory somewhat, but not completely, "What… what happened yesterday?" she asked, hoping he had some answers.

Michael gulped, scratching the back of his head and chuckling awkwardly, "We, uh, we kinda had another spar…" he explained hesitantly, making Salah want to question him further.

"So? That… that shouldn't have done this to me…" she muttered, wincing as her shoulder cramped up a bit.

"Yeah… that's because, well, I kinda… won." Michael explained.

The temperature in the room dropped a few degrees. Salah stared blankly at him, trying to wrap her head around what he had just said. She was on her fifth repeat of his words in her own head when the memories began flooding in. The duel had been fierce and fast, and Salah blanched when she began to remember what had happened.

He hadn't been as fast as she was, but any of his strike's that did hit felt as if she was being hit by one of the Imperiums space marines. Looking at her armor and the bruises on her body, she realized that he couldn't be lying. She looked up him, her eyes wide and emotions running wild.

Shame, that she had lost to a human.

Pride, that he had learned from her and become her equal.

Fear, that she would never be respected by those who had witnessed the fight.

Michael saw these emotions on her features and the tears welling up in her eyes, and he quickly ran to her side and put a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, it's ok. It's just one match, nothing to cry over."

She looked him in the eye, wondering why he was trying to console her, before she realized the reason. He was compassionate. He genuinly cared for those around him, and the more she thought about it, the more she realized how he had cared for her.

This room was his. He had carried her from the arena all the way to his hab, removing her armor as to let her be more comfortable. He had ample opportunity to take advantage of her, and yet he hadn't. He'd taken Kiara, the little girl that had lost her entire family, into his own personal care, as if she were his own daughter. Whenever she insulted him, berated him, or condemned him, he took it in stride.

He was sarcastic and crass at times, but never demeaning or xenophobic like the rest of his species normally were.

Instead of calming her down, these revelations began to make her feel even worse. She had treated him like a weakling when he had shown more compassion and care than the majority of her entire race. Tears began freely flowing, and she began to sob. She didn't care that the only one in the room was a human.

Her mask, the one she had donned when she'd taken up the path of the Howling Banshee, and later as Exarch, broke.

She let her emotions run wild, but instead of the sting of a daemon's attempts to possess her, she felt a strange, white warmth. Again, this did not calm her. She was bawling her eyes out, wailing in horror and and shame at what she had done. She did not deserve the arms that had wrapped themselves around her.

This was not the first time she had come to such a realization, but the leftover hormones and emotions from her fight with Michael had broken down the walls she had put up, removed her mask, and had reverted her to her most bare, and uncovered self. She was no longer the Exarch of the Howling Banshee's. She was Salah, nothing more, nothing less.

"Shh, shh, it's ok… it's ok, everythings going to be ok." Michael uttered, trying to soothe the woman in his arms.

Realizing that he was still holding her, she tried desperately to brake his hold, succeeding in throwing him off of her and pressing her back to the wall.

"Wha-?"

"I don't deserve you!" she yelled, her voice cracking. Her mind was running at a million miles a second. She thought of how he hadn't even hesitated to save Kiara, to raise her, when she had only considered the girl as nothing more than a precious resource. He hadn't hesitated to pull her into an embrace when she was in the depths of sorrow.

"I don't deserve your compassion…"

She froze, when she felt his strong arms wrapping themselves around her again, this time with a firmer grip, "Don't you dare say that again…" he said, making her breah hitch.

He leaned back, looking her straight in the eye, "Don't _ever_ say that you don't deserve my compassion."

She looked him in the eye, bright green meeting deep brown. Whatever doubts she had about his sincerity were shattered when she saw his eyes, filled with tears of his own ready to burst.

"But I… I…" she tried to speak, but nothing came out.

" _I don't care what your excuse is, I don't care what you think you've done, as long I have ears to hear, I don't ever want to hear you say that,"_ he said in near-perfect Aeldari.

Her eyes went wide when she heard him speak in her native language. The words, the language itself, sounded as if he was singing. Each note, each tone, was matched almost perfectly.

" _But… why? I've… I've been no better to you than the servants of she-who-"_

He cut her off by placing a hand over her mouth, _"Don't you dare finish that sentence."_

She looked into his eyes again, and again, and again. Every time she saw that unwavering conviction, the burning fire of compassion in his soul that made her feel so guilty. Despite her claims, despite every line of logic leading him to hate her, he still did everything he could to help her, to show her the care that even the Aedari didn't show for their own loved ones.

She tried to speak again, but her speech only came out in sobs, so she sat there in his arms, face buried in his shoulder while she cried.


	27. Chapter 27

Nevha Cleo. Phaerakh of the Ektahk dynasty. Overlord of the Necrons residing on the tomb world of Cellos VI.

She stood in a high tower overlooking the city that had been built in the past year. Men and women of the human Imperium went about their days while the near-mindless Necrons went about constructing the great buildings and roads that made up their new civilization. The two races, against all odds, were at peace.

"I have to admit, I never thought I'd see the day where a woman and her child can walk down the street and wave at a Necron warrior as it's fixing a busted window." Gaz, the now planetary governor said as he came up beside her.

"Indeed, it truly is a sight to behold," she said with a nod.

Two races, one ancient, one young, were living in harmony. The Inquisitor had given the wider Imperium a report stating that the Necrons had been destroyed and that the human population was now safe. In response, the Imperial government had promoted General Gaz to the planetary governor, a role that he was not particularly fit to play.

Fortunately, the Phaerakh was there to assist him. She had been an immense help in keeping the planet running smoothly, even going so far as to combine armaments with the planets new PDF, arming them with new Gauss weapons suited to their size and stature. Orbital defenses had been almost completely handed over to her, with her fleet consisting of a single Scythe class Harvest ship, a pair of Shroud class light cruisers, six Khopesh light cruisers to compliment the shrouds, and a dozen or so escorts. The fleet was large enough to defend the planet from any and all invaders, and Gaz was thankful he didn't have to worry about organizing the orbital defense.

Something else worthy of note that Nevha had taken it upon herself to do, was to change the aesthetic of her newly controlled dynasty. The green, sickly gown of the Necron Gauss weapons and aesthetics was changed to a brighter and calmer blue. Beyond this, the iconography was changed to mirror both the Necrons and the Imperium. The Imperial Aquila stood proud, with the Necron Ankh on its chest.

The tomb worlds Cryptek had not been very appreciative of her orders but followed them regardless. Changing the entire dynasty's iconography had been a challenge to say the very least, and they were still finding and replacing bits here and there. All the same, it was progressing.

"I must admit, it is good to see a flourishing kingdom." she admitted, "However… there is much more on the horizon."

Gaz nodded, "You feel it as well, then?"

"The galaxy is about to plunge into turmoil, ancient enemies are coming to the forefront of the war, and there are far too few of us willing to cooperate against them." She explained.

Gaz nodded, "Well, what do you suggest we do?" he asked.

She looked out at the city below her, pondering the question. Jarod was off doing what he could, enacting his plan in a way that would best fit the galaxy, and he had left her to do as she saw fit. In lieu of that, she decided to build up her own forces, to maintain her relationship with the people of Cellos VI, and to protect them.

She had succeeded on all fronts.

"Jarod told me of many threats to the galaxy. Some are nothing more than a distraction, while others have the potential to wipe out all life in the galaxy, including the Necrons. If we are to weather the oncoming storm, we must eliminate many of these before they get the chance to threaten us." She answered, "The first we should focus our efforts on, I believe, are the forces your kind calls 'chaos.'"

Gaz' brow raised, "You intend to go after the ruinous powers?" he asked.

"Not in the conventional sense, no. We cannot win a war of attrition against them, so we must fight in a different manner. Are you aware of the pylons' my race has constructed?" she asked.

He shook his head, so she elaborated, "They were constructed by my race over sixty million years ago in our war with the great ones. They were meant to suppress the Immaterium, to keep it from affecting realspace. They are scattered throughout the galaxy, though there are many that surround the eye of terror, a large number of them residing on the planet you call Cadia. If we were to retrieve a single one of these, then the Cryptek would be able to construct more of them from its blueprint."

"Are you saying that these pylons are what is keeping the eye of terror at bay!?" Gaz asked.

"That is precisely what I am saying. While there is a similar technology buried within this tomb world, the pylons themselves are capable of eliminating the warps influence completely. If we could gain the knowledge to construct more of them, than we could perhaps sever the galaxies connection to the Immaterium completely." she explained.

For the planetary governor, this revelation was a lot to take in. He had to remind himself that these Xenos did indeed have the Imperium's interests in mind, and even considering the Implications of what she implied, he wondered if such a thing could really be accomplished.

"Where would we start?" he asked.

Nevha would have frowned, if her face could express the emotion of frustration that she felt, "Truthfully, I am not sure where to begin. There are certainly worlds that I know the coordinates of that have these pylons built on them, but as is the case with Cadia, many of them have become heavily populated by humans or other upstart species."

Gaz nodded in understanding, "So, we would need to cross-reference every set of coordinates you have with the Imperium's own maps. A daunting task to say the least." 

She nodded in agreement, "And a time consuming one as well. Unfortunately, time is a resource we lack."

Gaz hummed in agreement, thinking the proposition over, "True enough. Still, what else can we do? I sincerely doubt just going to a random set of coordinates would be very intuitive."

"That is why we won't. Instead of cross-referencing the whole list of coordinates or going to one of the random planets, we only need to look for the ones closest to us and cross-reference them. It can save time and considering our location at the edge of Imperial space such worlds may indeed be uninhabited." she explained.

Gaz nodded in understanding, "Well, if nothing else we have a solid plan down at least. When do you want to begin?"

"As soon as we can organize a meeting between your navigators and the Cryptek. If we can get them to put their bias' aside, I do believe we will have a location within our reach fairly soon." Nevha explained.

"Well then, I suppose we'd best get to work." Gaz said with a grin.

[-]

Michael woke up like he did every other morning. But this one was different. Normally, he would open his eyes, staring at the ceiling, get out of bed, put his arm on, get dressed, brush his teeth, make and eat breakfast with Kiara, then get ready to go do something, be it training, meditating, or whatever else.

The first signal that something was different was the fact that he wasn't alone in the bed. He'd woken up a handful of times with Kiara sleeping on his chest, or bundled up next to him, but the person wrapping her arms around his torso was larger than her. Looking down, he noted the long brown hair and pale skin that was sprawled all over the bed, as well as the death-grip he had been caught in.

The look on Salah's face was one of peaceful sleep, something that very few Aeldari really appreciate. He admired her face, the beautiful angles, and curves that even now seemed to have changed from when he'd seen her last. She was far more relaxed, calmer, more serene. Michael had never seen her without her war mask, but now that he did, he wondered why she had ever put it on in the first place.

He still had his arm attached and he was still wearing his normal clothing instead of his pajamas, so he quickly came to the conclusion that he had fallen asleep at some point. He knew for a fact that they hadn't done anything… uncouth, earlier, but he still felt a bit awkward having fallen asleep with a woman in his bed.

She had woken up about four in the afternoon, several hours after their spar, and had cried in Michael's arms for several hours more, so it really didn't surprise him that they had fallen asleep together. He sighed as he ran his fingers through her hair, wondering how and when he had managed to become a cornerstone for Salah to lean on.

He kept staring at her face, a warm smile on his own. He didn't even notice when he had stopped staring at her face and was instead staring into her eyes.

"Morning." He said, making Salah laugh. Her voice rang through the room, a beautiful sound that made Michael wonder why she didn't laugh more.

"Good morning to you too." She said, closing her eyes again and nuzzling into Michael's shoulder, content to lie there.

Michael sighed, knowing full well that it was unlikely he would be able to dislodge her anytime soon. And when he got to thinking about it, he wondered if that was even a good idea, to begin with. She was using him as an emotional support, and if he tried to remove her, that might set her off again. Even considering how willing he was to help her, he didn't want to have to worry about her getting possessed by a daemon.

The door to the room slowly opened as Kiara poked her head in, a massive grin splitting her face. Michael and Kiara had a very silent back and forth, with Michael trying to send a 'don't leave me here' message in exclusively facial expressions, while Kiara simply shook her head and backed out of the room. The little minx.

The two of them sat there for what felt like hours, and probably was a couple of hours all things considered, before Salah finally yawned and began to get up. She sat up, uncaring at her lack of clothing or the fact that Michael was blushing furiously while trying to figure out why the lamp-shade had suddenly become so interesting. He took the opportunity to sit up as well, still trying to adjust his gaze away from her.

"Good morning," Salah said, pulling Michael's head to face her.

Michael chuckled, "You said that already."

She smiled, "Maybe so, but that doesn't make it any less true."

She leaned against the headboard, wrapping Michael's arm around her shoulders. They sat there for a few moments, mostly just sitting and basking in the presence of each other.

"I'm glad you won." She said, breaking the silence.

"Oh?"

"I never would have taken off my war mask otherwise… I would have been damned to feel nothing but anger and hatred for the rest of my life…" She explained, gripping his shirt. Her voice was so much softer than it had been when she wore her mask, and Michael idly wondered how much of her persona had been her, verses how much had just been the mask.

Michael rubbed her shoulder, getting a calmed sigh out of her, "Hey, it's ok. You're here now, and that's all that matters. You don't have to be the Exarch anymore, heck, you don't even have to be an aspect warrior anymore, you don't have to worry about any of it."

She looked up at him with a smile, silently thanking Isha she had stumbled into Michael.

"Besides, what do you have to fear with this 'ol Mon'keigh to keep your spirits up?" Michael said with a grin, point a thumb at himself.

As soon as Michael mentioned the name her race used to describe humans, she was suddenly horrified again. Had she truly called him… called him Mon'keigh? She began to go pale and shake before she felt Michael's hands grip her shoulders, one warm and soft, the other cold and hard as steel.

"Hey, what's wrong?" he asked.

She shook her head, "Don't… don't ever call yourself that!"

Michael blinked, "What?"

"I said don't ever call yourself that! I will not have you demeaning yourself!" She ordered, pointing a finger at him.

He blinked again, not quite sure what to make of the situation, "O… k… no more calling myself a monkey." he said while raising his hands defensively.

Salah sighed, wrapping her hands around Michael's chest and pressing her ear against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. The loud, slow thumping of his heart appeared to calm her nerves, her breath becoming steady again. Michael wrapped her in a hug once again, trying to figure out what he had done that made her so affectionate.

It was at that moment that they heard a loud crash come from the kitchen.

They both got to their feet quickly, Salah wrapping the bedsheet around herself to offer some form of modesty. When they arrived in the kitchen, Michael sighed when he saw Kiara on the ground, surrounded by a pile of fallen pots and pans, one of which was currently sitting on her head like a hat.

She was clutching her knee, which had a nasty bruise from what Michael could see.

"Ow…" she muttered.

Michael sighed, the concern on his face flowing away. He kneeled down, lifting the pot off her head, "You ok?" He asked, lifting her chin up. She had tears in her eyes but held a determined look on her face. She'd been through much worse, as much as Michael hated that fact. He sighed, pulling the younger girl into a hug, which she reciprocated.

"You know I'm not mad at you, right?" he asked, getting a nod, "You know I love you, right?"

She nodded, "Lo… ou too… ad…" she said, her voice muffled as she spoke into his shirt.

Michael almost did a double-take, pulling her a few inches back so he could look at her face, "Wha… what was that?" he asked.

She spoke again, a whisper that Michael couldn't hear it, "It's okay, whatever it is I won't-"

"I-I said… I said I love you too… d-dad…" she said, scrunching her eyes shut.

Michael's jaw went slack, his mind screeching to a halt. Eventually, his mind rebooted itself, and he let out a barely audible chuckle, tears welling up in his own eyes. He drew her close again, planting a kiss on her head, laughing. He'd never expected to hear those words for a long time, yet here she was, the girl he'd all but officially adopted assigning such a title to him over her own biological parents who were now gone.

In truth, he didn't feel worthy of the title, but he'd be damned if he didn't do his best to raise her as his own daughter. Eventually, Kiara began to cry, not out of sadness, but out of joy and relief that Michael - her father - had accepted the title she had given her.

"You… you're not mad?" she asked, looking up at him with tears in her eyes.

Michael laughed, "No, Kiara, I'm not mad. How could I be?" he asked.

The two, once again, hugged.

On the sidelines, Salah watched the two embrace, her own emotions going for a loop. She wasn't going to break down into tears, but she might start cooing and hugging the both of them if this kept up. She found the sight utterly adorable, and she wanted to join in but refrained from doing so in fear of ruining the moment.

Eventually, the two separated, smiles on their faces. Michael looked to Salah, seeing the massive smile on her face as she bit her lip, her hands clasped together and shaking. She let out a squeal as she ran forward, hugging the both of them. The three of them sat there, hugging in a way that most would find rather odd.

Several minutes passed, and eventually, they all started laughing, letting go as they sat there, surrounded by fallen dishes, filled with positive emotion. Salah and Michael sighed, looking into the eyes of each other. Salah was glad she had someone like Michael to help her, to pull her out of whatever recesses she threw herself into, while Michael was only eager to help.

Kiara, the little minx that she was, looked between the two of them with a massive smile on her face.

"... Are you gonna get married?" she asked not-so-innocently.

[-]

 **AN:... *Cough*... ye… I did that, not a day after the last chapter… I don't know what it is with me and writing fluff, but I've been doing it all day long, and I can't stop for whatever reason. Beyond that, I've been doing a crap ton of reading for the lore on the Necrons, so they will be playing a rather large role in the upcoming chapters. Chaos isn't something to be trifled with.**


	28. Chapter 28

**987.M41 Astral Winds Space Marine homeworld, Marus**

Chapter Master Landon of the Astral Winds was frustrated. Beyond that, he was curious. For context, nearly half of the chapters number were psykers, including the chapter master himself, something that the Inquisition gave them no end of trouble over. As a result, many of them had an unnatural sense of awareness of the galaxy at large. Over the centuries, many of them had sensed and predicted moments of great distress for the Imperium, anomalies in the warp, or incredibly powerful psykers using their powers. They had sensed a great deal of that last one as of late.

It started when they saw a great white light within the warp, not as bright as the Astronomican, but enough to gain attention. But before anyone could pinpoint its location, it was snuffed out. This happened several times more, until a year ago, when they felt the light become active for a few hours. It was enough for them to get a rough area of where it was coming from, but nothing accurate.

And then the Inquisition got involved.

The chapter had been searching the area involved in the flash but had thus far come up empty-handed. It didn't help that they'd run into a dozen Inquisitors of the Ordo Hereticus searching the exact same area. Whatever had set off that flash had attracted the attention of one of the most bloodthirsty organizations in the Imperium.

"Chapter Master, to you intend to continue sending search fleets into that sector?" The Captain of the first company asked as they looked over a galactic map.

Landon eyed his brother, before turning his head to the last member of the meeting; Chief Librarian Alan, "Brother Alan, you have seen what I have. Do you believe it is worth the risk?" he asked.

The Librarian shook his head, "I do not know, Chapter Master. The warp is muddled, the future is uncertain. Even the Emperor's Tarot has become unreliable." he explained.

The Chapter Master sighed, his frustration growing the longer the situation went on. No matter what they did, they were never able to find the source of the light, nor were they able to figure out why there were so many damned inquisitors roaming around.

"Chapter Master, I may not share yours or Brother Alan's abilities, but I can see that were are treading on dangerous ground. We were already being watched by the Inquisition, and our interest in this sector is not doing anything to build up our relations with them." The First Captain explained.

"I am aware of this, brother Gallen. However, I still firmly believe that there is _something_ out there, something that we need to find. If we come into conflict with the Inquisition… so be it."

First Captain Gallen stared at his leader as if he had gone mad, "Are you insane? We do not have the skill, reputation, or the numbers to go against the Bloody Inquisition! We are neither the Space Wolves nor the Black Templars, we have no hope of winning against them!"

"And that is why we will not. We will continue to avoid them if at all possible, provided they do not find the source of the light before we do. Besides, we would not be alone in going against the Inquisition. While our cousin's in the Black Templars deplore our very existence, I do not believe even you could forget our brotherhood with the Space Wolves." Landon said with a chuckle.

Gallen sighed, "Yes, yes, I am aware. I believe myself and a few others even have a running kill-count going." he said with a grin, his expression invisible beneath his helmet.

The Librarian laughed, "It is true. If we were to come to blows with the Inquisition, I believe we would find allies within our cousin's ranks."

"Regardless," Landon said, making an effort to change the subject, "Where do we go from here? We have three fleets in the sector already, the third, fifth and seventh companies ships scouring the sector."

"I believe I have an option, despite the risks it may involve," Alan stated, "There is a planet within the sector that neither we nor any Inquisitor we have come into contact with has even dared approach - Laphon I, a Necron tomb world."

Gallen scoffed at the Librarian's suggestion, "You think there would be anything there? It is avoided for a reason. The place is a death trap."

"I feel I must agree with Brother Gallen, why would the light come from a tomb world of all places?" he asked.

Alan shrugged, "It would make an excellent hiding spot, would it not? The majority of the Necrons on the world are inactive, it is only the larger and more dangerous ones that someone would have to worry about. It makes the planet near impossible to assault or colonize, but a single person perhaps?" he let the question hang in the air as if to goad his brothers into answering it for them.

Landon hummed in thought, thinking that maybe his friend might be onto something, "I do believe you are correct. Especially so if our target knows they are being searched for - the prospect of hiding out on a tomb world while the Inquisition goes on a manhunt is not an impossible venture."

Gallen nodded in agreement, "Yes, I see now. Even considering the planets sparse resources, it would not be difficult to scavenge for one person, mortal or otherwise."

"Then it is decided," Landon said, "Brother Captain Gallen, prepare the first company for departure. Librarian Alan, I suggest you send a message to the seventh company, let them return to our homeworld. Their numbers are low enough already, they do not need a conflict with the Necrons to cause even further casualties."

Both Astartes nodded, leaving to go finalize their assigned duties. Landon himself left the room, making his way to the fortress monasteries vaults. He planned to accompany his brothers to the planet of Laphon I, and he would not do so unprepared.

Opening the large doors that led to the inner vault, Landon glanced to the sides of the room as he walked through its halls. Weapons of ancient origin lined the walls, some even dating back as far as the Horus Heresy. Many among the chapter had forgotten the Chapters ancestry, their gene-father… their Primarch.

But not Landon.

He did not spread knowledge of the chapters ancestry, its history muddled and covered in lies and half-truths. Were the Inquisition to gain the knowledge of their heraldry, they would likely be declared heretics on mere principle. Landon knew that they would never be able to truly escape the curse of their Primarch, but had confided himself in taking their Primarch's name to his grave.

If there was no one left to remember their Primarchs name, then why would they feel the need to hide such a fact?

It still made his stomach churn when some of the younger recruits used the battle-cry 'For the Primarch!' without truly knowing the truth. He did not have the heart to tell them the truth, for if they knew, they would be thrown into a great depression at best or turn traitor at worst. Neither was a fate Landon wished for his brothers.

When he reached the end of the hall, he found himself standing in front of a tall, ancient door. Runes and symbols were carved into its ornate surface, cracks running through them displaying its age. Pressing the doors open, Landon watched as the lights in the room flickered on. The room was small, betraying the door's grandeur for a much smaller and simpler design.

Along the rooms walls were carvings depicting their Primarchs rise, struggles, victories, and fall. At the center of the room stood a set of ornate power armor, blue in color with gold accents and a golden faceplate. The war-plates design had long since been lost, only known to a few, most of whom had long since turned against the Imperium.

Achean pattern Mark Four power armor, designed and worn by the Thousand Sons legion during the days of the Great Crusade, and later, the Horus Heresy.

Its heraldry and color had long since been stripped by the tech-marines of the first generation of Astral Winds Astartes, now replaced by their own heraldry and color scheme. Landon stared up at the armor, wishing that such a piece of technology had not been built by traitors. It was said that their Primarch, Magnus the Red himself, had a hand in creating it.

Regardless, Landon put those thoughts behind him as the servitors he brought with him began stripping his power armor and preparing his new suit.

[-]

Nevha watched the streams of code flow through the great computers of her tomb world, scarabs hovering about repairing machinery or doing basic maintenance. A Spyder slowly floated by above her, searching for anything that might be in need of a more delicate touch. Their current project was finding a tomb world close by that had access to warp-inhibiting pylons and was outside Imperial surveillance.

The ancient Necron Technology was not the reason the search was going so slow, interestingly enough. No, it was the Imperial tech that was slowing it down. The glowing blue machines of the Necrons were more than capable of sifting through mountains of data at such speeds that put almost all else to shame. It was unfortunate, then, that the Imperial cogitators could only transport data so quickly.

The Cryptek had long since halted overseeing the data-transfer personally, growing bored with the unrefined and primitive human technology. Nevha herself stayed a bit longer, marveling at her races achievements. She idly noted that, had her life gone slightly differently, she might have become a Cryptek herself.

She had an odd fascination with technology, not curious enough to study it in-depth, but enough to pay attention to the Cryptek when he ranted about the tomb worlds structural integrity or the pains of having to re-design their Gauss weaponry to fit Human hands. Granted he was more than a bit over-dramatic, but it wasn't nearly enough for Nevha to command him to stop or anything.

She idly wondered why the Cryptek still served her at all. She had declared herself Phaerakh, in absence of anyone to defy her, so that might be the case. Still, she had no means to reward him, as he had access to all the technology and resources available to her. Perhaps it was because of this very fact that he was so willing to serve her, as she put very few restrictions on what he could and couldn't do.

Regardless, she figured it wouldn't be long until they found what they were looking for.

And she was right.

Not a moment before she began to consider leaving to go do something else, the massive computer dinged, letter her know that a candidate for their planet had been found. Looking over the document, she read over the Necron file first.

Average size and gravity well, supports primitive, non-sentient flora and fauna, oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, and best of all, over a dozen constructed pylons. Looking over the Imperial file, she noted the planets name - something her race never saw the point of.

Laphon I.

Evidently, the planet was largely avoided, due to large machines of Necron origin making it difficult, if not impossible to settle. Such a factor would be no trouble for Nevha. The planet in question had belonged to her dynasty, and even if her new designated title as Phaeron hadn't reached it yet, her newly forged credentials (courtesy of the cryptek) would allow her to bypass anything on the planets surface that might try and stop her.

"So, you found one?" She heard Gaz ask, the man walking into the room, eyeing the computer.

"Indeed. It should not be difficult for us to travel to, a day or space travel at most." she explained.

Gaz nodded, "Well, that's good. The cogboy almost had a heart attack when your machine stopped drawing data from the cogitator, whole thing started smoking," He said with a grimace, "Getting our tech to interface at all is a challenge. I don't think he'll be very grateful."

Nevha waved dismissively, "I am not asking him to be grateful, only that he avoid hindering us in any way." she offered.

Gaz shrugged, "Fair enough I suppose. So, when do we leave?"

"I must organize my forces, and I suggest you do the same. Should we come into contact with Imperial forces, my ships could hide out in the void, and it would be better if you handled them." she admitted.

"True. I'm not really sure what they'd think if they saw us working with you. How does a light cruiser sound? Should be enough to ferry a full regiment, plus some lighter armor." he offered.

"That will suffice. I can supply the heavier support, along with the necessary Canoptek components."

The two of them exited the processing room, discussing the upcoming mission. Logistics was something that Nevha would readily admit she was good at, as all Necron Overlords had to be.

[-]

"No, Kiara, that's not how it works." Michael said as he further explained his… odd, relationship with the former Exarch.

Kiara's little remark had made the situation extremely awkward, and Michael almost regretted telling her the stories he had. Princess Bride may be the best movie ever made, but telling such a story verbally was not a good way to introduce the little girl to the concept of romance.

Kiara scrunched up her nose, "True… it usually takes longer." she admitted.

Michael sighed as he buried his face in his hands, leaning on the now clean counter. After they had gotten over their embarrassment, they had agreed to clean up the mess before continuing the conversation any further. Michael was still reeling from Kiara's desire to call him dad, but he had mostly come to terms with the concept. It wasn't like he wasn't already in such a role.

Salah had disappeared early on to go get herself some proper clothing, before reappearing soon after wearing some of Michael's clothes. The cargo pants and t-shirt didn't exactly fit her lithe frame, but despite being loose and baggy it was better than being stuck in her underwear.

Salah chuckled at Kiara's antics despite them coming at her and Michael's own expense. While she did agree that no, they wouldn't be getting married anytime soon, she internally wondered what Michael's true opinion on her was. He was so unlike other humans, showing her compassion and lifting her up when she needed it.

"Look, can you just… not?" Michael asked, making Kiara giggle.

Michael sighed, but couldn't keep the grin that spread across his face when Kiara laughed. It warmed his heart to see her like that, and if it came at his own expense… well, he wasn't going to fight it.

"Alright Kiara," Salah started as she walked forward, "I think you'd better leave your father alone, he's blushing enough as is."

Kiara continued to giggle, "hehe, alright." she said, getting off her perch on the countertop.

Michael chuckled, "Alright, you head to your room while me and Salah chat."

Kiara complied, and when Michael turned to Salah, he nearly jumped out of his skin when she was standing mere inches from his face, "Dang it! Don't do that!"

Salah only giggled, "Alright, alright, I won't." she submitted.

Michael sighed, "So, what's with your whole… emotional collapse thing?" he asked.

Salah frowned, "Truth be told… I don't really know. You won our dual, and when I woke up… I guess it was enough of an emotional shock to… break my… war mask…" Her eyes went wide, "You broke my war mask…"

She brought a shaky hand to her face, her eyes blinking in realization, "I didn't think that was possible…"

Michael chuckled, "Goes to show just how much we humans can do, defying all logic and doing the impossible. Still, isn't that kind of a big deal?" he asked, "I mean, isn't that what makes you an Exarch?"

She nodded, "Yes, yes it was. I suppose I cannot return to being an Exarch now… not that I feel I would even want to."

"So… what will you do now?" he asked.

"I'm… not really sure, truth be told. I can't go back to being an Exarch, and I truthfully have no wish to even go back to being an Aspect Warrior. Having my mask on for so long… I've forgotten what it was like to go without it." she explained.

Michael shrugged, "I mean, now hear me out, you _could_ go without a path."

Salah looked up at him, her eyes wide with alarm before he put his hands up in defense, "I said, hear me out! Look, the whole paths system you have set up was designed in lieu of the birth of she-who-thirsts when the Eldar were getting bored and… well… yeah, Bad Things™."

"But now, with everything being as grimdark as it is, I don't think it will matter. Heck, the entire Aeldari race could probably go pathless and not have to worry! That's not to say its a bad idea altogether, especially once the galaxy starts fixing itself, but we have bigger fish to fry at the moment."

Salah hummed at his explanation, seeing the logic in it. He was right in a sense, the paths were designed to keep their race from falling into the pitfalls that their kin had fallen into when their empire was at its highest; but now, they were barely surviving as a race, clinging to any hope they could find.

It was an interesting proposition, but Salah herself found it difficult to just abandon the way she had been raised. The paths had become the Eldar way of life, and it was not as simple as just not choosing a path. When an Aeldari chose a path, they chose their lifestyle, their personality, and their future. To just abandon such a thing was not something she considered lightly.

"I… I don't know if I could do that."

Michael shrugged again, "It's only one option, one that, admittedly, needs to be thought out more and probably needs to be discussed with someone a bit more knowledgeable on the subject than me." he admitted.

Salah nodded, "Thank you, then, I appreciate the suggestion at the very least."

Michael smiled and nodded, "Now, moving on to a more… delicate, subject: Since when did you become so physically affectionate?" he asked.

Salah blushed heavily, her cheeks turning a fiery red, "W-well, I…" she gulped, swallowing her nervousness down as far as possible, "You… you are the first person to ever show me compassion, instead of… pity."

Michael blinked, "Are… are you serious!?"

She looked into his eyes, the green of her own glazing over as she remembered the interactions with the rest of her race, "The rest of my people treated me with pity, rather than compassion. My status as Exarch was that of a doomed soul, never to be set into the Infinity Circuit once I died, my soul being too violent to be connected to it. There was respect, of course, the path of the warrior is something that warrants as much, but I was never in all my years as Exarch shown the compassion that you showed me."

"That is why I felt so… so comforted by you, by your presence." she said, wrapping her arms around herself with a shiver, "I want to feel that kind of compassion again…"

Michael reached forward, wrapping his arms around her once again. Salah sighed in satisfaction, "I don't want to sound needy or spiteful, but…"

"Say no more," Michael said, pulling her away just enough to look her in the eye, "You of all people need the care and compassion that, the more I come to realize, it seems only humans can provide. I don't know if that's due to what the old ones did when they designed your species, or if humans just use different emotions than you do, but I can say right now that if you need anything, and I mean _anything_ , you come to me first alright?"

Salah nodded, before once again falling into Michael's embrace. They sat there for another few minutes, just sitting there basking in the presence of each other. Eventually they would need to get up and explain what had happened to Elirom, but for now, they could just sit there and hug.

[-]

 **AN: Fluff… me likes writing it. Anywho, the plot thickens even further, with the Astral Winds space marines actually getting involved! I've been waiting to get one of my homebrewed chapters involved, and now, I get to go all out! MWAHAHAHA!**

 **Anywho, lemme know if you caught the bit of Irony involved with the Astral Winds, and tell me what you think of the chapters relic! What other secrets lie in the vaults of the Astral Winds?**


	29. Chapter 29

Jarod walked through the halls of the craftworlds many buildings, not really paying attention to his surroundings. His thoughts were instead focused on what on Terra he was going to do, as well as venting such thoughts to Elirom.

"If I just ignore his offer, then he's liable to send daemons or Chaos space marines at me. But If I accept then who's to say he won't just turn on me and sick some greater daemon on us!? Or worse, try and kill us himself!" Jarod ranted, "And to make matters worse, his offer might actually be worth considering! We've been trying to get Michael's power unlocked for _month's_ Elirom, _Months!_ It's the Emperor-damned Forty-First Millenium! We don't have that kind of time! Not to mention I have just about a thousand other things to do of almost equal importance, if not greater!"

Elirom blinked, "Wait, doesn't warp travel take months, or even years?" he asked.

"Semantics!"

"Regardless, what else do you have to do? You've been doing nothing but making small warp jumps to neighboring systems for the past year," Elirom asked.

"Okay, I get that due to the fact that ever since your species created a Chaos god, you really haven't had time for politics, but you mean to tell me you have never heard of making connections, deals, and gathering favors to achieve your ends rather than relying on future sight all the time?" Jarod asked.

Elirom blinked, "What?"

Jarod sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, "We may be on the fringes, but we're technically still in Imperial space. I've made a few allies among the various colonized planets, as well as a local hive world to keep us supplied with manpower, a nearby forgeworld to provide us with ammunition, weapons, and spare parts, as well as a couple of agri-worlds to provide food for my men in exchange for either favors, goods, or protection."

Elirom nodded as he listened to Jarod's explanation, "I suppose you do make a good point. One cannot rely solely on the resources at their immediate disposal after all."

Jarod sighed, "In any case, that still doesn't help us know what to do with Magnus."

"True enough. However, I must admit that I am of little use to you in that regard. The future is muddled, and though I can make out the broad strokes, I cannot make out what will happen whatever you do. I would suggest you be cautious, above all else." Elirom offered.

"It's a daemon Primarch. Of course, I'm going to be cautious. Still, I'm gonna have to talk to Michael about all of this regardless. How did his match go yesterday anyway? I haven't seen him since he left for it, I was to busy dealing with Magnus' offer to really ask him about it." Jarod asked.

Elirom hummed, "It is odd, I have been meaning to ask the Exarch about that myself. However, I have thus far been unable to locate her, and the few other Aspect Warrior's I have spoken to do not know where she is either. She's not by any of Khain's Shrines, nor is she training or in her Hab, so I have little idea where she may be. Michael, on the other hand, is probably at his hab, watching over Kiara." he explained.

Jarod nodded, "Guess I'll head over there then."

With their conversation finished, Jarod made his way to Michael's hab in hopes of finding a solution to his situation. Michael didn't think clinically like Jarod, Elirom, or Calivar, he trusted his gut more often than not. Granted that had gotten him into more than one awkward situation more than once, but it was still a good point of view to have in certain situations.

Jarod made his way through the winding halls and walkways of the craftworld, passing by the occasional Eldar who gave him a look, but had gotten used to seeing him and Michael walking amongst them, so they ignored him for the most part.

Jarod soon found himself knocking on Michael's door. He was surprised to find it wasn't Michael who answered it, but Kiara.

"Kiara? Where's Michael?" he asked.

Kiara giggled, "Dad's in the kitchen with Salah." she said.

Jarod blinked, his brain going over her the information again. The word 'dad' finally registered, and Jarod groaned in rage, "Dang it Michael you've gotten attached."

Making his way into the house, Jarod's brain - after just rebooting itself - short-circuited again when he saw Salah and Michael chatting. Now, this wasn't all that weird, save for the fact that Salah was wearing cargo pants and a loose t-shirt. And wasn't insulting Michael every two seconds.

He barely registered when they stopped talking and started staring at him.

"I can explain?" Michael said weakly.

Jarod sighed, "Nice score. Imma go get drunk now. See you in five hours."

"Wait! Hold on! Seriously, I can explain!" Michael called out.

Jarod's shoulders drooped and he turned around. Would it really be so bad if he went out and got drunk? Couldn't the galaxy last a few hours without his genius?

"And what, exactly, is there to explain?"

Michael sighed, then proceeded to explain what had happened. From winning the match, having Salah use him as a body pillow, his sort-of-official adoption of Kiara, to Salah's status as the Exarch being removed.

Jarod wanted to go get drunk. He wanted so badly to leave, drink his sorrows away, forget about the last two hours, and then experience it all over again.

"And how do you plan on explaining this to everyone?" he asked.

Michael shifted nervously, "Well… we haven't really thought that far ahead yet…"

"Personally I would speak to Elirom first. He is one of the most level-headed Aeldari on the craftworld, and would more than likely be willing to justify this to the council if nothing else." Salah explained.

Jarod sighed, "Yeah, yeah you're probably right. I guess the real issue here is what I had come here to do in the first place. You two do realize that you couldn't have had this happen at a worse time right?" he asked, pausing for a second, "Ok, there could probably be worse times, but this is kinda up there."

Michael blinked, "What? Jarod, what are you talking about?" he asked.

"Look, while two were having you're little get-together, revealing your deepest and darkest secrets to each other, I was having a conversation with a frakking Daemon Primarch!" Jarod all but yelled.

In a mere instant, the temperature in the room dropped, while Michael and Salah both straightened, "Jarod, what are you talking about?" Michael asked.

"I was in bed, almost asleep mind you when I was contacted psychically by none other than Magnus 'did nothing wrong' the Red! Where he basically offered me a contract! Oh, and he knows where we are now so there's that too!" Jarod explained.

Michael and Salah both processed the information in their own ways, trying to figure out what on Terra could be the reason for Magnus, not only knowing who Jarod was, but contacting him and offering him something, "What does he want, and what is he offering?" Michael asked.

"He mentioned that he could unlock your powers, and as for what he wants, I have no clue. He was really cryptic about it, which only heightens my suspicions might I add. See, there are only two things he could want from this; my immortal soul, or a sandwich. I'm pretty sure it's the former all things considered." Jarod said sarcastically.

"So, what are we gonna do?" Michael asked, "I mean, I don't think for a minute that you don't have some kind of plan at this point."

"We're gonna find out what he wants and if he attacks us we're going to introduce him to Humanity's best quality, which is the sheer determination to beat him up by kicking him in the balls, spitting on him while he's down, slitting his throat, tearing down everything he was ever known for, and then making a mockery of everything else." Jarod said with a sadistic smile on his face, looking content with his place in the universe for at least a second.

Salah looked at him warily, "Is he… normally like this?" she asked quietly, leaning toward Michael.

"Not really? I mean I wouldn't exactly say this is unusual per se, but it doesn't happen very often." He explained.

"Look, regardless, I need your input. What the heck am I supposed to do?" Jarod asked, ignoring their conversation.

"Well, I mean… what else are we supposed to do? We have to at least go see what he wants." Michael said with a shrug, "I mean, it's far from Ideal, but remember; you're a freaking anti-chaos bomb waiting to go off. All you have to do is go berserk and there's not much anyone can do to stop you."

Jarod held up one finger, "Keep in mind, Primarch."

"Primarch's aren't invincible."

"Only other Primarch's have killed Primarch's. Konrad doesn't count, he let himself get killed."

"Undefeatable, then. Still, this is Magnus we're talking about. If I remember correctly, he's not exactly unreasonable."

"He's also not exactly a pushover when it comes to shoving his psychic weight around, either."

While the two argued about what to do, Salah sat on the sidelines, watching with growing curiosity as they talked about subjects she barely understood. Granted it was mostly Imperial history, so that was understandable, but she felt a bit uncomfortable. It was when Jarod started ranting about the Emperor's webway project that her mind screeched to a halt.

"I mean, Magnus let freaking _daemons_ into the Imperial Palace! You can't say that wasn't intentional on Tzeentch's part at the very least!" Jarod said.

"The Emperor wasn't even supposed to be messing with the webway, to begin with, and the fact that he didn't at least tell Magnus about it was all on him."

Salah was able to get the basic gist of their conversation, and from what she could gather, these two knew far more than they ought to. They were revealing information right in front of her that even the most knowledgeable Aeldari had been trying to figure out for millennia!

"Wait! Just Wait!" Salah called out, stepping between them, "What in Isha's name are the two of you talking about?" She asked.

Michael and Jarod both went silent, realizing that… well, talking about such things in front of someone, not in the loop was probably a bad idea…

"Look, long story short, the two of us know a heck of a lot more about the universe than most, well, anyone. There's probably only a handful that knows more than us, and even then, they're probably on the wrong side, to begin with." Jarod explained.

Salah shook her head, "What do you mean you know more than most? How could you have gained this knowledge?" she asked.

Jarod sighed, "Look. This is one of the few things that I'm not going to explain. I trust Michael not to do so either because if we told anyone about it, we'd probably end up nailed to a post and burned alive."

Salah went wide-eyed at Jarod's declaration, "What knowledge could be so dangerous? The power of chaos? The goals of she-who-thirsts? The nature of the universe itself?" She asked.

Jarod's expression remained grim, "That, and so much more."

"What? How?"

Jarod remained silent, and it was Michael who answered, "Salah, there's a lot out there in this universe. To answer your question of what we were talking about, well, we were talking about Magnus the Red, his rise to power, how he fell to Chaos, and if he might be reasoned with." he explained, "As to how we know this stuff… well… I honestly don't know if you would even want to know."

She blinked, staring at Michael, "What do you mean I wouldn't want to know? Of course, I want to know! You're speaking of things thousands of years in the past as if you were there! And I happen to know that humans don't age all that gracefully, there's no possibility you're older than thirty! How do you know all of this?" she asked.

Michael grimaced, "You don't want to know, because if you did, it would invalidate your entire existence."

"What?" Salah asked, an eerie silence falling over the room.

Michael sighed, "We know how Slaanesh was born. We know how the other three were born. We know how the Eldar race was born. We know how the Emperor of mankind was born… ish. Regardless, if you knew what we knew, and how we know it, it would make this whole universe seem… inconsequential."

Salah took the information in, and the more she thought about it, the more the thought mortified her. Morbid curiosity drew her thought on, however, and she wondered just what information they held. It was completely possible that Jarod might be lying, but Michael backing the information up made Salah question such a notion.

"So… should you reveal what you know, it would invalidate everything?" she asked.

Michael made a back and forth motion with his hand, "Not exactly. There's no problem in asking _what_ we know, only how we know it. It'sIts the latter that's reality breaking."

Salah sighed, "If that is the case, then I suppose that is fair. Regardless, what in Isha's name are you planning?" she asked.

Jarod cleared his throat, "Well, before we got caught up in our little tangent, I was going to ask Michael what he thinks we should do, and now that you're in on it I might as well ask you the same question. Magnus the Red has offered to unlock Michael's abilities for an unknown price and has given me coordinates to a Daemon world. Should we meet him there, should we stay put, should we go in guns blazing, what?" he asked.

Salah pursed her lips in thought, considering the Implications of what Magnus had offered. She was not well versed in the ways of Chaos or its champions, but even she knew of Magnus the Red, the Crimson King. A daemon prince of Tzeentch, and a powerful foe. In her mind, to even consider trusting him was tantamount to suicide, as even the most trustworthy of Tzeentchian followers would shake your hand and stab you in the back at the same time.

"I will admit that I am not the most knowledgeable on the subject, but personally I do not believe it is worth the risk." She offered.

Jarod hummed, "Under normal circumstances, I would agree, but we have to consider the fact that Magnus could easily send a hoard of daemons or a chaos warband after us. He knows where I am, that much is for sure, and I don't think we could reliably outrun him. We have to respond somehow or risk making him angry, and personally I don't like the idea of an angry Daemon Primarch." he explained.

"Honestly, it looks like we've been backed into a corner," Michael admitted, "If we don't go, we're screwed for sure, but if we do go, then we might be able to get out. And again, you're a walking anti-chaos bomb, if anyone could slow down a Primarch, it'd be you."

Jarod sighed, "Somehow, I knew you'd say that…"

[-]

Nevha stood on the observation deck of her ship, looking down at the planet below her. The dull grey sand and mountains shot up from the planet's surface, giving it a ghostly white look from orbit. The planet itself was cold and almost barren of life, with only a few species of flora or fauna present on the planet. Of course, all of this paled in comparison to the massive hole in the planet's surface, measuring eight kilometers in diameter, and burrowing deep into the planet's surface.

It was a weapon, one that, in the right hands, could destroy entire star systems. Granted such a thing could only occur in the most specific of circumstances, but the option was there. Elsewhere on the planet, pylons dotted the landscape, towering over the empty sands and crags. These pylons naturally repelled warp energy when active, and she had tasked the Cryptek with locating and retrieving the blueprints for such devices.

She once again turned her attention to the massive weapon embedded in the planet's crust, and idly wondered if they should destroy the weapon outright. She decided against this. The planet, while technically under Imperial control, was soon to be part of her personal domain.

"Thinking of galactic domination again?" SHe heard Gaz ask from behind her.

She turned to see the man wearing a sarcastic grin on his face, his body leaning against the doorway to the observation room.

"You seem to be comfortable, especially considering you are onboard a foreign vessel." she commented.

Gaz shrugged, "It isn't really foreign is it? I mean, we bath live on the same planet, have the same enemies, and have roughly the same goals. Truth be told this ship isn't all that different from an Imperial ship, just with fewer purity seals and more glowing bits." he commented.

Nevha let out a dry chuckle, her the vibrating vocal systems making an eerie - if oddly elegant - sound. In Gaz's opinion it didn't sound human at all. Appropriate, he supposed, considering it wasn't a human the sound came from. Still, it was very clearly a laugh, a sound that Gaz was convinced was some kind of universal language.

"I see you are acclimating well. I apologize for not having your Imperial Iconography plastered all over my ship, but even I have my limits when it comes to skulls and birds." She admitted.

"Well, I suppose that's expected of you Xenos, you're very different from us humans after all." Gaz said.

"All to true. Still, I am glad that we have such an alliance. Were it not for Captain Jarod, I believe the two of us may be at each other's throats."

"No doubt about that. If he hadn't gotten there when he did, I don't think I'd be alive right now. We only had a dozen or so regiments, and you had an entire tomb world. If Jarod hadn't gotten to you first, I don't think we would have lasted very long." He admitted.

She chuckled again, "And yet here we are, standing side by side, fighting against the abominations of the ruinous powers."

[-]

 **AN: So I've been painting mini's… a lot, recently. I picked up a Necron army and have been building/painting it non-stop for the past couple weeks. Got some old wraiths from third edition and I absolutely love them! Kind of afraid to paint them though as they look really cool just as they are… still, love what I've been able to do with them.**

 **Anywho, aside from that, JohnElysium/Robocop3301 (Space battles & FF respectively) is of off to college, so I don't think he'll be getting an army any time soon… eh, he'll probably still pick up guard.**


	30. Chapter 30

Landon sat in his quarters, meditating and waiting for the time they would exit warp space. His mind wafted through the bowels of the warp, ever so slightly dulled by the Gellar field that defended the ship's inhabitants from being consumed by the creatures of the warp. All around him he sensed the minds and souls of his brothers in the first company, each either meditating, reading, studying, or any other mundane tasks that needed to be done. It calmed his mind to know that his brothers were unconcerned by the upcoming mission and that they didn't feel the need to question it. Each of them had been well aware of the light, psyker or not, and were more than willing to pursue any lead they could find.

He wondered what they might find on the planet if their goal was there, and what that goal meant. Would it be nothing more than an extremely powerful psyker? An Imperial saint? Or even a Primarch? Landon let his thoughts run wild for a moment, considering the possibilities before working to reign in his thoughts in again. It would do him no good to speculate, all he could do was wait and see.

He felt the first captain approach long before there was a knock on his door, "Enter," he said, and Gallen stepped in.

The First Captain's blue robes hung down from his body, his casual posture indicating the feeling of security among his chapter master and brother in arms.

"Chapter Master, I assume you are already aware of what I wish to speak with you about?" he asked, crossing his arms and standing at the corner of the room.

Landon scoffed, "Unlike many of our brothers, I do not make an effort to spy on my brother's thoughts. Speak your mind, so that I may speak mine."

"There are a few tactical options to consider, such as the terminator squadron. Do you think we shall need them?" Gallen asked.

"No, I do not believe we will. As long as we remain wary and do not draw the ire of the tomb world's inhabitants, we will not need to deal with anything more than wildlife, or perhaps, rebellious humans," he noted.

"You believe our target to be a traitor to the Imperium?"

"Hardly. I only suggest it as an option, nothing more. Truth be told we are more likely to come into conflict with the Inquisition, should they finally find themselves some courage and attempt to search the world themselves, which I doubt will happen either."

Gallen nodded, "And what of the relic? Your armor? Why did you bring it if you do not expect to fight anything more than wildlife?"

Landon grimaced, thinking on the matter. He had felt a sinking feeling, one akin to what one felt when they fought an unwinnable battle, or when they went into negotiations they knew would fail from the outset.

"I do not know what we will be facing, brother, but for whatever reason, I feel as if such armor will be needed, for better or worse." he offered.

Gallen nodded, "And what of the other two companies? Will they be joining us as well?" he asked.

"The Third and Fifth companies will be joining us, yes." Landon explained, "Should we find nothing, then they will return to their search and we will continue on ours."

"Very well then. I feel I must ask, however, what is it you hope to find?"

Landon paused, pondering the question for a moment. What did he want to find? What hope did he hold for the future? "I suppose I wish to find some answers. To find something to validate our existence."

Gallen's mind grew uncomfortable, "Answers? Validation? Is serving the Imperium, not enough brother?"

"It is enough, but I cannot hope but strive for more. We are a chapter on the eastern edge of the galaxy, we have little to our name beyond being of a dark founding and ancient relics. Perhaps I wish to know why we exist, to have validation for the blood and sweat we have sacrificed for the Imperium as a whole."

Gallen's consciousness calmed slightly, though his stoic expression showed no change, "And what if it is nothing more than a monster? Some abomination of Chaos given form, what then?"

"Then we will kill it." The Chapter Master said simply.

Gallen hummed, nonplussed, "Fair enough I suppose, I am simply skeptical of the whole situation. We do not know if this light will serve the Imperium, willingly or otherwise. There is no guarantee we will gain anything from this, much less answers or validation."

"I am aware, brother, and yet I cannot help but hope that you are wrong."

"If I am wrong, then we have made the greatest discovery in our chapter's history. If I am right, then three companies of Adeptus Astartes will be forced to deal with a threat that might be better handled by the Inquisition."

Landon considered his brother's words carefully, noting the distaste in his tone at the mere mention of the Inquisition. They were not friends with the organization by any stretch of the imagination, so it was odd for Gallen to be delegating such work to them.

"Do you believe they would do a better job than the Emperor's own angles?" he asked.

Gallen scoffed, "Of course not, I am simply saying our abilities might be of better use elsewhere. A thousand Ork wars are going about within our reach, a hundred reports of Tyranids, a dozen requests from the Inquisition to come deal with these threats and yet we come here to deal with some ancient Xenos in hopes of finding a bright flash of light." He finished, his tone provocative of his distaste.

"And yet we are here, and there is nothing that can change that," Landon stated.

"Nothing within my control at the very least…" Gallen muttered.

Landon frowned, "Do you find your position distasteful, First Captain?" he asked.

Gallen shook his head, "Not at all, it is an honor to lead the first company, however, I do wish you wouldn't be so eager to chase after ghosts and lights in the dark."

"We are surrounded by darkness, Gallen. The Tyranids close in, the forces of Chaos grow stronger every hour, the Necrons are awakening, the Orks ravage the galaxy, and the Imperium is fractured," Landon explained, "A Light in the darkness is something we desperately need."

[-]

Michael and Jarod made their way through the halls of The Emperor's Boot, directing and ordering its many crew members. Jarod focused on getting the logistics through, while Michael focused on getting the grunt work done. While Michael may have been relatively idle for the last year, he had not lost his touch when it came to operating machinery and tools.

Defenses were set up all through the ship in the event that they were boarded, with kill rooms, chokepoints, and hidden turrets filling up the ship's corridors. Matthias and Michael had spent the better part of the day installing them. Kiara had been eager to help in any way she could and had even asked if she could come along.

"Absolutely not." Michael said firmly, "You are the _last_ person that should be going on a trip like this Kiara, I don't you to be put in danger."

"But what about you?" she argued, "If this mission is dangerous, why are you going?"

Michael sighed, "I'm the reason we're going on this mission at all. If I don't go, there won't be any point to it."

Kiara frowned but nodded her head in acknowledgment. While she went to go help Matthias in some way, Michael went to go find the barracks. Just like he had remembered it, the barracks were filled with men and women who had either volunteered to join them or had been victims of circumstance. Either way, Michael needed to get acquainted with them.

He knew they had been running drills in his absence, they had been training, they were guardsmen after all. Jarod had told him that, in his absence, he had promoted Richard to commander, and it seemed the man had been doing a relatively good job. Michael recognized many of the faces he saw, as well as noting the new ones among the group. It made him realize how disconnected he had been with them, having spent a large amount of time on the craftworld instead of with the troops.

In the end, he focused on reconnecting with the higher up lieutenants and sergeants, with Richard introducing him to several of the new ones from the other ship. Michael was smart enough to know that he hadn't done anything to earn these men's respect, so when Jarod offered to put him in command, he'd declined.

"Once we've gone through a few battles or finished a campaign, then maybe I can take command. But until then, they're all a lot older than I am and have a lot more experience, which they trust a lot better than some kid who's friends with a rogue trader." Michael had explained.

The fact was true, and when Michael had discussed the fact with the commanders themselves, they seemed incredibly grateful.

"I can't tell you how many times we've been put under the command of some pretentious idiot who has more to prove than he has brains in his head," One of the commanders said, "The fact that you won't even attempt to take command until we've seen you in action earns you quite a few points in my book already."

Such conversations had been repeated in slightly different ways by most of the commanders, all of them showing their appreciation for Michael's consideration. In the end, Michael remained in command of the forces aboard the Emperor's Boot, while each commander remained in control of their own regiments and line Corps.

Jarod of course still had majority control, being able to command the armies whenever he chose, but he was smart enough to know that the commanders in charge would be able to take care of themselves and would avoid getting killed.

Of course, not all went well, as the meeting with Inquisitor Karev soon proved.

"You cannot be serious…" Karev asked with a deadpan look on his face, "Eldar, I can understand, Necrons, I've at least come to understand, Throne, Orks I could understand! But you're talking about the Ruinous Powers! A Daemon Primarch! What part of you thinks that could go well!?"

Jarod sighed, "Not a fiber of my being thinks this will go well, Karev, but we don't have much of a choice. It's a risk we have to take. Besides, you saw what happened on Raxis Prime, I'm a walking anti-chaos bomb. If he tried to betray us I don't think there's much stopping me from delaying him long enough to escape." he explained.

"That shouldn't condone this! You plan to make a deal with the literal devil!" Karev criticized.

"A deal that, if we're careful, won't backfire… now that I say that out loud I realize how hypocritical that sounds." Jarod admitted.

Michael gave Jarod a raised eyebrow, "You just realized how hypocritical our situation is?" he asked.

Jarod glared at him, "99.9% of the time, deals with chaos backfire. But there is still that point one percent, and that's if we go through with the deal at all."

Karev sighed in mild relief, "So there is a chance you won't go through with it?"

Jarod shrugged, "Truth be told the only reason we're going is that there's a chance Magnus won't straight-up lie to our faces. I mean, I said it before, he either wants my soul or a sandwich, and while it's probably the former, there's always the possibility of the latter."

"... A sandwich?"

"It's a metaphor," Jarod said, rolling his eyes.

Eventually, they were able to sway the Inquisitor, however begrudgingly, to come along on the expedition. All three ships in Jarod's 'fleet' would head to the coordinates of the daemon world, and should the need arise, would act as a full combat force.

Calivar agreed almost immediately, stating that if Jarod believed it to be the correct course of action, he would follow regardless of his own opinions. He did state, however, that he did not like the thought of interacting with Chaos in a non-hostile manner. He had fallen prey to its false promises once, and he did not wish to see the same thing happen to those around him.

Jarod considered the Space Marines opinions carefully and admitted that he didn't want to fall into the trappings of Chaos either, but at this point, things had already been set in motion, and it would be too much of a risk to turn back.

Matthias was indifferent about the situation, carrying a similar sentiment to Calivar. In the end, it took less than three days to prepare all the crew and the three ships, and all that was left was to say their goodbyes and depart.

"Well, I suppose you'll be away for a while then." Salah remarked, "How long will it take exactly?"

"The planet is only a week's worth of warp travel away, so if all goes well, we should be back within three weeks. Though, I'd say wait a month before you start worrying." Jarod offered.

Salah turned to Michael, "Kiara will miss you, you know. It's only been a few days since she's finally gotten used to calling you her father."

Michael sighed, "I know. As much as I hate the situation, we don't exactly have much of a choice. Where is she by the way?"

"She was sitting in her room when I left. I think she was disappointed when you refused to let her come," she admitted.

A pang of guilt formed in Michael's stomach, "It was for her own safety, above all else. I don't want to risk her wellbeing any more than I already have just by being in her proximity." he admitted.

Salah nodded, "Honestly, that's probably the best thing you could have done. She may be young, but even she understands why you refused."

Michael nodded, knowing she was right. Even if Kiara was disappointed, even she knew how dangerous it was going to meet a Daemon Primarch. Michael idly noted that, once again, it was a bit hypocritical of him to think that way, and Kiara likely thought the same. Why should he get to risk his life and not her? It was a naive way of thinking to be sure, but Michael at least knew the practical reasons.

If she went along, if she risked her life, a whole long list of terrible things could happen to her. He shook his head, driving such thoughts from his mind. He didn't need to think about that right now, especially considering his own risk-taking.

"Well, I guess we'd better get going," Michael said, giving Salah a weak smile.

Salah smiled warmly, "You come back now, you understand?" she ordered.

Michael chuckled, "Wouldn't dream of anything else."

[-]

"Said goodbye to your girlfriend?" Jarod teased as Michael walked onto the bridge.

He rolled his eyes, taking a seat next to Jarod's command throne, "Let's just get over this alright? Or do I need to remind you of Amel-."

"Don't you dare utter her name!" Jarod ordered, cutting Michael off.

Michael chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

Jarod sighed, " Ensign, bring us into the warp."

"Aye sir!" the crewman said, and the crew began working.

All three ships disconnected from the craftworld, flying a few thousand kilometers away in order to get a good entry point. They formed up, The Emperor's Boot in front, Karev's Inquisitorial Vessel to the left, and the transport to the right. When Jarod gave the order, a massive warp portal opened, and all three ships moved forward, entering the warp.

The portal closed behind them, leaving them to Navigate the depths of the Immaterium.

[-]

Food for a week? Check.

Plenty of water? Check.

A few changes of clothes, and a spare set of robes? Check.

Kiara ran through her checklist, examining her bag one last time before she closed the vent shut. It had been a nightmare getting around the various guards and crewmen on the ship, but once she'd managed to get inside the vents, everything became a whole lot easier.

Her dad had refused her requests to join him, saying that it would be far too dangerous for her to come along. She disagreed. She knew the risks, she knew what they would be facing, she had every reason to go along with him. At least, that was how she justified her actions.

Intellectually, she knew that she was far underprepared to deal with an expedition of such importance, but emotionally… She wasn't sure she would be able to stand being away from her father for that long.

When he came back - IF he came back - she would be an emotional wreck, in a similar, if still very different, state to what Salah had been in. She didn't want to have to deal with that, even if Michael would be her support eagerly and without hesitation. She'd made up her mind, in the end, and was determined to follow Michael wherever he went.

All she had to do was stay hidden until they had reached the point where it wouldn't be worth turning around, and she'd be fine.

[-]

Magnus sensed them.

As far away as they may be, as guarded as Jarod had made himself, Magnus still sensed their departure.

The arrival of the two had caused a shift in the balance of power, it had changed the fundamental laws of the warp, and Magnus knew this. The two had the power to change everything, and Magnus knew this. The future had become blurry, events that had been set in stone for a thousand years had suddenly changed, prophecies that had been spoken ten thousand years ago were shattered, and Magnus knew this.

The question was not if Magnus knew, however. The question was… did the two know? Did they realize how much they had changed by merely existing? Two of the most powerful psykers the galaxy has ever known, from a time that should never have existed, from a reality long past, the two had become a wild card.

Tzeentch claimed to have pulled them from their own time, before putting a fairly basic lock on their psychic power. The god of change had lifted his barrier around Jarod's abilities, and now the two sought to lift the barrier on Michael's. There was a variable, however. Magnus wasn't sure what this Variable was, but he knew that it would be the tipping point that allowed him to get what he wanted.

The boundaries of their contract, while flexible, would by fairly simple. He would lift the barrier on Michael's power - something he was likely doing on his own naturally already - and teach him how to use said power, should Jarod allow it. In exchange, well… Magnus had two objectives; In the short term, Jarod would deny the Emperor as a deity, as a fit leader, and as his Lord, and would accept the Lord of Change as his liege. Magnus knew the latter part of his short term was unlikely to occur, so that he was willing to part with, though he still wanted Jarod and Michael both to denounce the Emperor.

His long term objective, however, was a fair bit more complicated. He wished for Jarod to retrieve the last shard of his soul that remained. His nobility, which resided in the depths of Jupiter's moon, Titan.

Such a task would be impossible for many, and strenuous for those that it was not impossible for, so Magnus would be lenient on the time limit. He did not expect Jarod to be able to locate and retrieve his soul shard immediately, or in the next year, or decade, or even century! No, a task like reclaiming his nobility was something that would take the most dedicated of men a hundred lifetimes to accomplish, even if they could accomplish such a thing at all.

And therein lies the trap. If Jarod were to fail in bringing him his soul shard, be it by dying, giving up, or betraying the Crimson King, then Magnus would simply devour Michael's soul. He would place a mark on his soul, giving him the option to teleport to Michael if he so chose. Should Jarod fail his task, he would teleport to Michael and kill him, and after that he would devour whatever was left of his soul.

Of course, Jarod needn't know all of the minor details.

[-]

 **AN: Well, the plot thickens. This was mostly a prep chapter honestly, as the next chapter is when all the juicy bits start coming to the forefront. On a side note, how am I writing Magnus? I'm trying to keep his character a good blend between Canon!Magnus and TTS!Magnus, as Jarod and Michael's perception of him is based primarily on the later version, they are affecting him and making him act more like TTS!Magnus.**


	31. Chapter 31

The black clouds of Laphon I grew in size, lighting crackling overhead as the dark, polluted water in the clouds caused their color. On the ground, guardsman and warrior stood side by side, those without living metal bodies retreating to shelter to escape the coming acidic rain. Heavy boots left footprints in the grey sand as they moved, kicking up dust as the men ran inside their tents and prefab structures.

Less than a kilometer away, Nevha, Gaz, and a handful of guardsmen and Warriors stood at one of the tomb world's many gates. In front of the sealed door, a cryptek used his staff to illuminate and manipulate the doors controls, preparing to open it.

"How long is this supposed to take?" One of the guardsmen complained idly, more to himself than to anyone else.

The cryptek paused what he was doing and turned to the guardsman, "I suggest you remain quiet Human. Should you continue your ramblings I may leave you out here. I assume your flesh is not as resistant to the rain as Necrodermis?" he asked threateningly.

"Tivehk! Enough!" Nevha chastised.

The Cryptek remained silent, before returning to his work. A moment later, the door opened, the panels sliding sideways to reveal a long tunnel. Green lights lined the hall with glowing Necron symbols and glyphs etched into the wall. The group moved forward, heavy boots and metal feet clanking on the stone floor as the door closed behind them.

The guardsmen turned on the mounted flashlights on their Gauss rifles, illuminating the dimly lit corridor. While the Necrons wouldn't necessarily need them, the humans required a bit more light than what the glowing symbols provided.

The group kept moving, before they finally reached an elevator. The group piled in, the space provided by the construct more than sufficient to house all of them. The Cryptek toyed with the controls of the elevator, and before long, they were moving.

The platform seemed to almost float downward, the magnetized tracks it connected to providing a smooth ride. The trip only lasted about a minute, in which the Necrons stood silent while the guardsmen chatted idly. When the elevator stopped and the doors slid open, everyone present was subject to a magnificent sight.

A great balcony jutted out, allowing the to step out of the elevator and better see the massive hall before them.

The ceiling and floor stretched a hundred meters from the balcony, the walls covered in more symbols and glyphs. The majority of the room was lined with row upon row of stasis chambers, each filled with Necron soldiers, civilians, and any number of other living metal inhabitants. Canoptek Wraiths floated about, performing maintenance and repairs as needed. Tiny scarabs flew around, working in areas the large Wraiths could not reach.

"Throne… what is this place?" One guardsman asked.

"This is a stasis vault, where many of the citizens of the great Necron race lay dormant, waiting to be awakened." Tivahk answered.

"Indeed," Nevha affirmed, "However, this is not what we are here for. Tivahk, please start the reanimation process, and locate the construct templates for the pylons."

The Cryptek bowed, "Of course, my lady."

Tivahk walked off, heading to carry out Nevha's orders. With that done, the Phaerekh turned to Gaz, "Well, what do you think?" She asked, gesturing to the thousands of stasis pods filling the room. Already several pods had begun to open, their inhabitants stepping out and moving to carry out their future orders.

"It's… enormous, I'll give it that. I've seen some magnificent things in my life, but I think this tops most of it. Are there any of these rooms back home?" He asked.

Nevha shook her head, "Not to this scale, no. Still, we have our own advantages."

Gaz nodded, before his eyes widened as he saw a huge Tomb Sentinel crawling along the wall, it's massive, multiple legs magnetizing to the metal surface. For roughly an hour, the group walked through the tomb complex, the guardsmen staring in awe at the massive constructs. At one point they even reached an area where a massive Sereptek heavy construction stood dormant. In Gaz's opinion, nothing short of an Imperial knight could even hope to defeat such a thing.

He was very glad that Jarod had convinced them to ally themselves with the Necrons, for if they hadn't, he wasn't sure what it would take to truly defeat them.

[-]

"Chapter Master… are you seeing this?" Gallen said as the two of them looked at the bridge's view screen.

The enhanced auspex of the Astartes had detected several ships in the Laphon system, all surrounding the planet of Laphon I. At first, Landon had almost dismissed this as some Inquisitor or reconnaissance ship, but when they got closer and the readings became more accurate, the truth became… disturbing.

A total of six ships had been detected at first, but when they got closer, only three remained. These three were clearly of Imperial origin, but it disturbed them that three of the ships had seemingly disappeared without a trace. No warp signatures, no radiation, nothing. They had considered the possibility of Stealth Drives, but such things were incredibly rare, and if they were indeed being used, then the perpetrators had only used such devices to hide once the Astartes had gotten close enough to be detected.

"I see it, Brother. What I cannot determine is why such a thing would be the case." Landon admitted, "Stay out of range for now. Have the Astropath send a message to the Third and Fifth companies, tell them to remain a fairly long distance from the planet once they arrive in system."

"Very well," Gallen agreed, before walking off to complete his orders.

Landon watched the viewscreen with increasing frustration. Something was going on, that much was for sure, but he didn't know what.

"Ensign," He called, "Send a vox-hail to the lead ship, I want to know what they are doing here." he ordered.

The Ensign complied, and the order was sent. Only time would tell if he would get an answer. Should they ignore a hail from an astartes ship, something would clearly be wrong. Should they answer, he would be able to find out more directly what was going on. He did not sense any corruption in the air, nor did he sense the overwhelming presence of chaos within the warp.

Whatever was going on, he severely doubted it had anything to do with the great enemy, but he would be a fool to rule such a thing out so quickly. Many planets had fallen prey to the Ruinous powers when those watching over them were not vigilant in their duty.

Soon enough, he received a response from the lead ship.

" _This is Captain Harper of the Imperial Transport vessel_ Canals Fury _, to whom am I speaking?"_ the man asked over the vox.

"This is chapter master Landon of the Astral Winds Adeptus Astartes, I am inquiring as to your presence above the planet of Laphon I." he asked. He refrained from asking about the three missing ships. If they truly were hiding something, better to find out the information discreetly rather than using blunt force.

" _Uh, please hold, my lord."_ the man responded, his voice cracking a bit. The vox-link was cut, and the tech-adept in charge of the Auspex reported a vox-link traveling from the ship down to the planet's surface.

It was odd, all things considered. And foolish on the part of Captain Harper. He had hung up on an _astartes_ for Emperor's sake! Had he they been of the Black Templars or Flesh Tearers it was likely the man and his ship would not be staying in orbit for a very long time. Alas, Landon was a member of the Astral Winds, and as such, he held a certain respect for mortals that too few chapters did.

Still, the nervousness in the man's voice made the Chapter Master suspicious, as did the fact that he had immediately called someone on the surface, likely his commanding officer, to ask how to deal with the situation. It was not a poor decision mind you, but the fact that he had the gall to hang up on a space marine was… not, wise.

Of course, the man was likely panicking. The Astartes had not made their presence known until now, and there were very few that would have been able to tell anyone that they would be in this exact system anytime soon. Still, while his panic would be understandable, that did not make it appropriate.

Soon enough, they received a vox-link from the planet's surface, which they accepted.

" _This is Planetary Governor-General Gaz, of Cellos IV, to whom am I speaking?"_ he asked.

"Your subordinate did not inform you?" Landon asked, already noting the man's rank. Why the planetary governor was here, instead of on his home planet, was a mystery he intended to solve.

" _I apologize, my lord, the only report I received was that a ship of space marines had made contact. Again I ask, to whom am I speaking?"_

"You are addressing Chapter Master Landon of the Astral Winds Adeptus Astartes. I am inquiring as to why your ships are hovering above the planet of Laphon I, and why you and your retinue are currently on the surface of a known Necron Tomb World." He asked.

" _Astral Winds…? As in - No, nevermind. We are currently on this world in search of resources, my lord."_ Gaz explained.

Landon raised an eyebrow, "Resources, governor? Surely your home system has enough, and if not, I am sure there are safer places to gather resources than a Tomb World."

The line remained silent for a moment, then Landon swore he could hear someone talking in the background. Then, just when he was about to cut the transmission off, Gaz's voice came through again.

" _I ask that you not interfere, Chapter Master. I have no quarrel with you, and I don't want to cause an incident. Please, leave the system."_ He said, his tone desperate and solemn.

"I am afraid I cannot do that, governor. We have busiess on this planet, and I intend to see it through." Landon stated, knowing where the conversation was going.

Gaz let out a long sigh, _"For what it's worth, I didn't want it to be this way. The Emperor Protects."_ He said before the transmission cut off.

Landon frowned, before looking at the viewscreen again. The three Imperial ships had moved in the time their conversation had taken place, placing one of Laphon's moons between them and the Astartes vessel.

"Advance on the planet and prepare the landing craft," Landon ordered, "We will find out what they are hiding."

The ship moved, but, when they were only an hour's flight from within the landing range, the ship rocked. Alarms rang throughout the ship as it came to a halt, and when he looked at the viewscreen, he realized instantly why. The three ships that had disappeared, had now reappeared next to his ship. Beams of stable energy held the vessel in place, and when he looked at the readouts, he realized what the governor had been hiding.

The three ships holding his ship in place were of Necron Origin, Shroud class cruisers, each equipped with enough firepower to turn his ship to scrap.

[-]

Michael, Jarod, Matthias, Caliver, Karev all stood around a holo-table, meeting together to discuss what their plan was in total.

"Ok, so I'm pretty sure we're all aware we're not headed straight there, correct?" Michael asked, getting nods from everyone at the table.

"Our first stop, where we are headed now, is the forgeworld of Danloss, where we need to pick up extra ammunition, as well as a weapon I commissioned from them a few months ago." Jarod explained.

"What are we giving them in exchange?" Matthias asked.

"I've already paid them in advance, giving them some of my predecessor's stash of thrones along with some… well, I'm kind of surprised it worked, but I gave them some toasters, of all things." Jarod explained.

Karev blinked, "... Toasters?" he asked.

Matthias groaned, "Just… don't ask, that sect is a part of the mechanicus that I have been trying, and failing, to understand. I don't know what it is, but they seem to have some kind of obsession with the damn things."

Everyone at the table, save Calivar, shrugged.

"In any case, with my Emperor-given mission to destroy Chaos, I asked if they could build me some blessed power armor. Specifically, I asked for some extra defence against Tzeentchian influence." Jarod explained, "Frankly, the only reason I didn't get accused of heresy at that point was because I had Karev with me."

"Did you only get one set?" Micahel asked.

Jarod shook his head, "I got three, one for me, one for you, and one for Karev." He explained, "I'm pretty sure Matthias will be staying on board the ship for the most part, and Calivar, I don't think you'll need new power armor, not that I could get you any to begin with."

The space marine nodded, "My armor is sufficient, and though I have struggled with the influence of Chaos before, my will has been strengthened. I will not be tempted again."

Jarod nodded, "Once we pick that up we should be good to go straight there, though I recommend we send an astropathic message to a shrine world or something and notify them of the Daemon world. Those things are a pretty big issue, and frankly I'm surprised no one's tried to deal with it yet."

Karev frowned, "It is possible that they do not see the daemon world as worth dealing with. Mark it on the map as forbidden, and that usually keeps all but the most insane or corrupted out of it. Worst case scenario set up a blockade around the system." He explained.

"True enough. Anyway, once we reach the system, we're going to set up a staggered retreat method. The Emperor's boot will be the closest to the planet, within landing distance of its moon. The Reverent Purity will remain on the outskirts of the system, with the Golden Path in between them as a form of emergency transport. Should we get into a fight, we can start evacuating to the Golden path and then get out. If all else fails, the Reverent Purity should be able to get out of the system if everything else goes sideways." Jarod explained.

"What do we plan to do when we get in contact with the Traitor Primarch?" Matthias asked, "He's dangerous. We have no hope of even surviving a battle, let alone winning one."

"I am anathema to Chaos, I was able to nuke a greater daemon back into the warp and then proceed to beat the crap out of legions of daemons and traitor marines. I'm kind of hoping my abilities will be enough to hold him off while all of you escape. If not, then… well, we're screwed." Jarod explained, "Then again, all of this could be pointless, and we could end up getting nuked as soon as we exit the warp. Though I kind of doubt that will happen, as Magnus wants something out of this, and he can't very well get it if we're all dead."

The group agreed, noting the logic Jarod was following. Everything following that was mostly a discussion of what Magnus might want, and what ways he might try to stab them in the back. Michael mostly sat out of the conversation, as he was having a different one inside his own mind.

' _You've been oftly quiet.'_ he noted to the Slaaneshi Champion.

' _I remain silent because there is little for me to add. I have little opinion of the Sorcerer, and you seem to be quite aware of his abilities.'_ Lucius spoke.

Michael frowned, _'This isn't the only time you've been quiet. Heck, you've pretty much not spoken a word since Salah had her breakdown.'_

Lucius was silent for a moment, and Michael was almost afraid the space marine had gone silent again before he spoke up, _'The reaction to her defeat by your hands was… not what I expected, to put it mildly. To be honest I had expected her to try and stab you in the back, or simply accept the defeat with irritated stoicism. Becoming attached to you was not something I had expected.'_

' _Well, I'm just glad her emotion's didn't attract some kind of daemon. I mean, if she had gotten possessed, who's to say I could have dealt with that? And no, I wouldn't have decided to turn to Slaanesh and have sex with the thing.'_ Michael said with a shudder, _'There are lines a sane man does not cross, and even more I won't. That is WAY past the line.'_

Lucius scoffed, _'Well, when you put it like that the daemonette's sound outright revolting.'_

' _They ARE outright revolting. Seriously, what in your twisted mind thinks half-naked, purple-skinned crab ladies is attractive? Let alone pleasing to look at!'_ Michael asked.

' _Hey, don't kink-shame, it's unbecoming of you.'_

' _I'm kink-shameing you incredibly hard right now. Seriously, we're talking about the personification of evil here! The epitome of disgust! Blegh, my eyes hurt just thinking about it.'_

' _And having a relationship with an Aeldari isn't the epitome of disgust and shame?'_ Lucius asked, his grin audible.

' _For the record, we're not like that, and on a second note, sex isn't something to be treated with such… causuality. Seriously, that's just… wrong.'_ Michael said, a shiver running down his spine.

Lucius chuckled again, _'Sometimes I am glad you refuse the pleasures of Slaanesh, your reactions are quite amusing.'_

Michael sighed, before shoving Lucius into a mental box. He wasn't anywhere near prepared to deal with the eternal headache at the moment. While he was thankful that the Chaos Champion had trained him in sword fighting, he wasn't keen on his constant innuendoes and attempts to convert him to Slaanesh.

[-]

 **AN: Another prep chapter, and a look into what Lucius thinks on the situation. Once again, the eternal champion proves his status as a perverted troglodyte.**


	32. Chapter 32

Landon stared as the ships surrounding his own held it in place, keeping it from at all functioning. It galled him to think that the citizens of the Imperium had allied with the Necrons, but all the evidence supported the fact. He all but admitted that he had been consorting with them when he apologized to the chapter master, something else that Landon was trying to wrap his head around.

Gaz had apologized and said he wished there was another way. That was not the words of a heretic touched by the ruinous powers, nor was it of the mouth of one who had betrayed the Imperium as a whole. He had even uttered the phrase 'the Emperor Protects' as a sign of apology.

Regardless of his reasoning, Landon shoved the thought aside. He had bigger things to worry about at the moment, like how he was going to get himself and his men out of their current predicament. They couldn't just simply fire upon the enemy vessels, as there were three of them and their weapons weren't meant to go after separate targets at once.

"What are the auspex readings on those ships?" he asked the crewmen at the helm.

"Three ships of Necron origin my lord! Shroud Class, they have us caught in a stationary lock! We can't move!"

Landon cursed under his breath, "What of the warp drives? Can we enter the warp?"

"Not without substantial risk," A techpriest at the helm answered, "The Necron technology inhibiting our movement is interfering with the Warp Drive and Gellar field generator, entering the Immaterium would be unwise."

"Can we send an astropathic message to the other companies ships?" he asked.

"Unknown. Attempts are being made now."

Unfortunately, it was too late, as the auspex sighted a warp portal opening up just outside the system. The _Venerate Honor_ and the _Gloria Sanctos_ strike cruisers belonging to the third and fifth companies respectively.

Landon considered his options. The two light cruisers would have to get in close to deal any damage to the cruisers holding his vessel in place due to their lack of lance batteries, but if his own strike cruiser _Litany of Vengeance_ could, perhaps, distract the enemy it would allow the other two ships to get in close and either disable or destroy the three Shroud light cruisers.

His hope was dashed, however, when two of the three ships holding the _Litany of Vengeance_ in place broke off, likely to do the same to the other two ships as they had done to him.

"Send a vox-link to the _Venerate Honor_ and _Gloria Sanctos_! Warn them!" he ordered.

The crewmen scrambled to obey the order, successfully sending the emergency message. With that finished, Landon turned to the single ship facing him. The two ships were virtually at point-blank range, being only fifty kilometers apart. If he were to order an attack, he wouldn't miss.

"Las-batteries, open fire upon the ship holding us at once!" he ordered, and his crew complied.

The starboard las-batteries opened up, pouring fire upon the Necron vessel. The red beams of light slammed into the vessels shield, forcing it to lose its grip on the _Litany of Vengeance_ in order to retreat to a longer range in hopes of avoiding the oncoming fire. Unfortunately for it, the macro-cannons fired soon after, slamming into the ships quantum shielding and draining its power considerably.

The vessels own weapons began to power up as it too fired upon its opponent, the Lighting Arc turrets sending green spears of energy slamming into the Imperial vessels void shields. The damage was light, but it was enough to disrupt the aim of the Imperials long enough for the Necron ship to get farther away, successfully putting five thousand kilometers between it and its opponent. Still to close for comfort, but it was gaining distance quickly.

"Keep up the fire, but move us within drop range of the planet," Landon ordered, "We have a mission, and we must complete it."

Elsewhere in the system, the two strike cruisers belonging to the Astral Winds received the message from their chapter master and were prepared when their scanners picked up the profiles of both Necron Shrouds. They opened fire with their torpedoes almost immediately, draining the Necron's shields significantly with a single attack. The Necrons responded in kind, their own longer ranged weaponry peppering the Imperials void shields. Little damage was actually done, but it was enough to disrupt the advance of both vessels.

While the battle between the four ships continued, Landon and the space marines first company prepared. The ship that had been following them was trying to repair the damage caused to it courtesy of a dozen macro-cannon rounds and several hundred las-battery shots. While it certainly wasn't enough to destroy the ship, the combat had drained its shields and caused some significant damage to its armor.

While the _Litany of Vengeance_ prepared its drop-ships and drop pods, the other two strike cruisers struggled against their opponents. The Shroud light cruisers were ancient, born from the War in Heaven to fight against the old ones and the Eldar, but even they had their limits. Torpedoes, las-batteries, missiles, macro-cannons, all of it had caused more damage to the two ships. The strike cruisers weren't much better, mind you, as their void shields were almost completely drained, and their armor had been nearly stripped to completion. Ammunition was running low, and it looked as if they might be losing.

Until one of the shrouds exploded. A stray macro-round had hit the joint of its wing, causing the ship to split apart. The wing was teleported away, likely into the bowels of the tomb world, to be repaired, while the rest of it desperately limped away from the fight. The commanders of the Imperial ships would not have this, however, as they diverted fire from the intact ship onto the damaged one, ripping through what little shields it had left and destroyed its armor. Engines and power generators were hit, exploding with a shower of green energy. Again, the husk of the ship was teleported away.

With its partner destroyed, the remaining Shroud retreated, activating its stealth drives and slipping away into the darkness of the void. The strike cruisers rushed towards the planet of Laphon I, just as the first of the Thunderhawks made land…

[-]

Bolters barked, chainswords revved, and grenades explode in a shower of fire and shrapnel. First Captain Gallen led his forces forward, his glowing power sword cutting down Necron Warriors with every strike, his plasma pistol rendering many an Immortal to scrap. Beside him, a dozen squads of space marines fought alongside each other. Librarians, at least one in each squad, brought many of the living metal monstrosities to heal.

Warp-lighting and telekinetic force seemed to be quite useful against the Necrons, with no Psykers of their own to defend themselves or to counter-attack with. While boltguns and chainswords were effective, yes, the ancient Xenos refused to stay down, their reanimation protocols regenerating whatever damage was done to them, and when the damage became severe, they would simply teleport away.

Blue arcs of gauss weaponry flew through the air, disabling and disarming many marines. Fortunately, it seemed the Xenos had been forgoing kill shots for some unknown reason. Only two of his squads had actually taken casualties, and that had been the younger recruits, performing some foolish maneuver in hopes of taking out one of the larger constructs. Gallen recognized several times where a battle brother should have been killed, the shot had been diverted, and he was simply injured. The First Captain scoffed. Their mistake.

Drop pods fell from the sky, breaking through the clouds and rain, slamming into the ground and releasing their cargo of assault marines. The marines cut a swath through the Necron forces, slowly but surely advancing. Chapter Master Landon had given the order to move on the encampment that had been set up by Governor Gaz, in order to capture the man and get answers.

Gallen had expected to be fighting traitor guard, perhaps those touched by the ruinous powers, but he had to admit his surprise when they were pitted against the mechanical might of the Necrons.

The Shrouds had been the biggest of surprises for him, though that was likely due to the reveal they had foretold. He tried to understand why someone would ally with the soulless automatons, but he found his knowledge lacking the ancient Xenos, and decided to simply follow his chapter masters orders and hope Landon's knowledge outstripped his own.

Speaking of the chapter master, Gallen looked across the battlefield in awe of his brother's prowess. His ancient navy blue and gold power armor glistened in the rain that coated the world around them. His own power sword, decorated in high gothic symbols and purity seals shone with blue-white energy, cutting through whatever stood in his path. From his left hand, lighting came forth, the blue electricity chaining between the many opponents that stood before him. His status as a beta-level psyker was not to be underestimated, that was for sure.

They continued to push forward, hoping to get to the Imperial camp in hopes of figuring out what had happened. Eventually, they reached a kind of trench line, a standard tactic of the Imperial guard. This confused Gallen for a moment until the far more precise shots of trained guardsmen came raining down upon them. He almost expected lasfire, which could have just been tanked by him and those under his command. Instead, the same blue gauss energies that came from the Necrons started to tear his battle-brothers apart.

Unlike their Necron allies, the guardsmen were not redirecting their shots. Several of his brothers went down, their armor was torn asunder and their flesh atomized as the man aimed true. The Astartes were certainly faster than the guardsmen to keep up with, but when you had hundreds, if not thousands of men firing at once, some of the shots were bound to hit something.

Gallen surveyed the battlefield, ducking when a stray gauss beam got a little too close for comfort. By his observation, the camp they were sieging was centered around a single, towering spire, pitch black in color and covered in glowing green runes and glyphs. Whatever it was, it seemed to be important.

He was drawn from his thoughts when he witnessed one of Landon's bolts of lighting tear into the guardsmen line, followed by another dozen such attacks from the other psykers in the Astartes force. The unified attack had opened up a hole in the guardsman line, and those without psychic abilities took full advantage of this. The assault marines used their jump packs to get in close, their chainswords roaring as they cut into the flesh and bone they had been crying out for but had been denied thus far.

Gallen himself took the opportunity to charge into the melee alongside them, tearing into the men and women who defied the Imperium. They still wore the Aquilla on their shoulder pads, and it made him sick that such traitors would dare to defile the symbol of the Imperium while they stood in the battle against the Emperor's angels. Still, he remained calm, avoiding needless suffering and pain, killing quickly where he could.

The space marines continued forward, breaking through the guardsman line and into the camp. Acidic rain burned the dead flesh of the men before them, sizzling as the stench started to rise. It was not a pretty sight, and Gallen acknowledged that fact.

Suddenly, with no warning whatsoever, the towering spire lit up, its glyphs glowing an emerald green as it began to hum. He turned when he heard one of his brothers cry out, clutching his head as his bolter fell to the ground. All around him, the Librarians were crying out in agony. Gallen watched helplessly as his chapter master fell to his knees clutching at his head.

Gallen was about to rush to his friend's side when a high pitched whine sounded. He turned to the spire again, seeing that the once green glyphs were now a bright white, and in an instant, a wave washed over everything, and all the First Captain felt was agony.

[-]

 _ **A few minutes earlier…**_

Gaz watched helplessly from inside the tomb complex as his men died by the dozen, the giant space marines tearing into them. Alongside him Nevha was seemingly panicking, barking orders to the Cryptek and to those things she called 'Lychguard'. It seemed she was as distressed about the situation as she was.

"My lady," The Cryptek said, his voice sharing some of her distress, "We cannot simply activate _one_ pylon, it is linked to a network, it would take time to -"

"Set them all off then! It may cause the guardsmen temporary pain, but it is better than having them all slaughtered!" Nevha interrupted.

Had the situation been different, Gaz might have gone wide-eyed at the Phaerekhs' declaration, but as it was, he didn't have the luxury of paying attention to the situation. The guardsmen that had come into the tomb complex with him were cursing up a storm, letting out damnations and curses that made little sense to anyone, not from their own homeworlds.

"As you wish, My Lady." The Cryptek announced, somewhat shaking Gaz from his thoughts. The Cryptek stood at a cogitator - or, the Necron equivalent at least - and seemed to be doing… something.

When he turned back to the screen, he noticed the Pylon that their camp had been built around was now glowing, the Emerald green shifting quickly to a bright white.

"Nevha, what's going on?" he asked.

"We are activating the warp-inhibiting Pylons. Many of your 'space marines' seem to be psykers of some kind or another. Hopefully, this will incapacitate them. Also, I apologize in advance, just know that you and your men will be fine." Nevha explained.

The Cryptek scoffed, "Sure, they will be fine, but what about what this thing is aiming at?"

Before Gaz could ask any questions, everything went white.

[-]

 **AN: So, a shorter chapter than usual, but I wanted to save what happens with Jarod and Michael for the next chapter. Plus, this was just really fun to write. Truth be told the beginning was a bit troublesome, as I tried to figure out how to get the space marines out of their little predicament. I went through several different scenarios, but this was the one that I felt was the best. In the end, you will see what the consequences of all of this are.**


	33. Chapter 33

Michael and Jarod stared at the power armor that stood before them. The silver color, with bronze-gold highlights, made it a beautiful sight to behold. Three sets of power armor, each one built to take auto-gun and lasfire in extreme amounts, and, as long as the thicker armor took the brunt of it, it could even take shots from a space marine's bolter.

Purity seals hung from the pauldrons and chest plate, each warding off the malignant powers of Chaos and imbuing the armor with blessings of the Emperor and the machine god. Lines of High Gothic text were acid-etched into the armor, detailing litanies and blessings uncountable. The armor itself was more valuable than most citizens of the Imperium could ever hope to afford, and that was before the included weapons were considered.

Each was equipped with a single-handed melta-gun, powerful enough to melt through even space marine armor. Along with that, a power sword hung from the waist, ready to be wielded in tandem with the fiery ranged weapon.

"Statement. The Power-armor you requested has been completed, and your contribution to the Adeptus Mechanicus will be remembered." The static, emotionless voice of one of the Techpriests explained.

Jarod smiled, "I knew you wouldn't disappoint. Though I have to ask, how long does the battery last?" he asked.

The techpriest let out a string of binary before answering, "Explanation. Provided the Machine Spirit has been appeased and maintenance has been provided, battery life should extend to well over forty-eight standard Terran hours provided the power pack remains undamaged." he explained.

Jarod grinned, "And the modules for Michael's suit have been installed as well?"

"Correct."

With the explanation's out of the was, servitors began loading the power armor onto the transport vehicles that would fly up to the Emperor's Boot. Michael was admittedly excited to try on the new power armor, especially so due to the fact that it could apparently interface with his augmetic, giving him access to the lasgun in his arm… not that he would use it much, given that he would have access to a meltagun when wearing the armor.

" _It's a pity you don't have a black carapace,"_ Lucius commented, _"You would be able to move as if you were wearing nothing at all, which, given your already enhanced abilities, would be quite intimidating."_

Michael chuckled lightly, _"Yeah, 'course I'd rather not get skinned alive to put the thing on."_

Lucius chuckled but refrained from making comment. The rest of the crew piled onto the ships with a full restock included - laspacks, grenades, shotgun shells, fuel, anything and everything they might need in a full-scale battle. By all measures, they were ready for just about anything.

On the bridge of the Emperor's boot, Jarod ordered them to head straight for their target destination. with everything in order, there was little else they could do to prepare.

"If we just sat around gathering more power and strength, we wouldn't get anywhere." Jarod had explained.

From the forge-world, it would take only two more days to reach their destination, and on the last day of travel… Jarod noticed something. Hidden in the bowels of the Emperor's Boot - remarkably close to Matthias' workshop - he sensed a familiar psychic presence. An Aeldari soul.

Jarod wondered why he hadn't seen the soul before but recognized instantly that they had been intentionally suppressing their soul, making it hard for Jarod to find them if he hadn't been looking. The only reason he did find them was due to the fact that he had been idly scanning the surface thoughts of the ship's crew, looking for their opinions on the mission at hand.

Making his way down to the Engineerium, he used the Eldar soul as a beacon. They were located inside one of the storage rooms, funnily enough, and had crawled inside one of the vents. Jarod's stomach fell as he realized what that meant. Small vents, Aeldari, there was only really one option, and she had a fairly concrete motive as well.

Sighing in frustration, Jarod pulled off the vent grate and crawled inside. His small skinny frame allowing him to fit - even if it was a bit uncomfortable. Crawling through the vents, he made his way to where Kiara was hiding, and soon found himself in a fairly cramped, if livable room. Sitting in the corner of the room, Kiara had her eyes scrunched up while clutching what looked like a data-slate.

"Kiara?" Jarod asked.

Kiara's eyes blinked open, and she looked around the room, somewhat confused before she went bug-eyed. She looked at Jarod, and her shoulders sagged in defeat. Jarod sighed, dreading the explanation he would have to give her dad.

[-]

"So why did you do it? Micheal asked, his voice darkly calm and serene.

Jarod recognized the tone and knew that underneath his skin and muscle, he was boiling with livid rage. Fortunately for Kiara, he wasn't one to blow up in rage. No, his anger was calm and silent, and it usually took form in some kind of revenge later down the line, though Jarod doubted this would be the case.

Kiara was in trouble, big time, but as of right now, their situation had become… dire.

"I-I just wanted to come with you… you get to risk your life while I have to stay behind… I don't want you to not come back…" She said, explaining her, admittedly flawed, reasoning.

Michael sighed as he kneeled down and put a hand on Kiara's shoulder, "Listen to me, Kiara, we're not doing this because we want to. Magnus the Red is probably one of the most dangerous beings in the entire galaxy, and truth be told, I don't want to be anywhere near him. I especially don't want _you_ to be anywhere near him, alright?" he explained.

Kiara nodded solemnly.

Michael pulled her into a hug, "I love you, you know that right?" she nodded, "And I don't want you to get hurt. We're going to be talking with, and possibly fighting, a Daemon Primarch. Now, you are going to stay on the Reverent Purity with Inquisitor Karev, alright? If something goes wrong, I want you out of the system immediately."

"But what about you?" she asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

Michael sighed, "I'll be on the Emperor's Boot, and possibly on the planet's surface. I'm not going to lie, it's going to be dangerous, which is why I don't want you anywhere near it."

Kiara pouted, "It's not fair…"

Michael sighed, closing his eyes, "I know Kiara… It isn't fair, but life isn't fair, alright?"

She nodded, "Alright."

"In the word's of a very wise man," Jarod spoke up, "Life isn't fair, and anyone who says otherwise is selling something."

Kiara, bless her soul, chuckled at the reference she didn't get.

"Really Jarod? Now of all times?"

Jarod shrugged, "It's appropriate. And besides, we need something to lighten the mood, we're only a few hours from the planet."

Jarod frowned, "How exactly are we planning to get Kiara to the Reverent Purity? It's not like I could teleport her, and if Magnus sees her… well, I can't say it'll be a good thing." he remarked.

Michael frowned, "You said she's been hiding her soul this entire time? Kiara, how did you do that?" he asked.

Kiara shrugged, "I just did what Jarod does all the time." she answered simply.

Jarod frowned and shook his head, "We're going to need more than that. This is Magnus the Red, probably in the top three most powerful psykers of all time. I only managed to see her when I was looking for souls, but Magnus is going to be actively scanning our ships. I could try covering her soul with mine, but she would need to be close by, at least on the same ship, for me to do so."

Michael frowned, "Are you sure there's no other way?" Michael asked.

Jarod shrugged, "The way I see it, we have to options; putting her on the Reverent Purity and trusting Karev with her safety, as well as hoping Magnus doesn't try anything if he does find her; or we can keep her on the Emperor's Boot, and I can hide her presence fairly easily."

Michael sighed, "So, bad option one, or bad option two?" he uttered sarcastically.

"Honestly? Contradictory as it may sound, having her on the Emperor's boot might actually be safer. Magnus can teleport, summon daemons, and all that other stuff, but if he doesn't know about Kiara, then we can keep her safe." Jarod admitted.

"So, we can get her out of the line of fire initially but risk Magnus going after her, or we can keep her on the Emperor's Boot and keep her within arms reach, but in serious trouble, if things go sideways…"

Jarod frowned, "Well, we'll just have to make sure things don't go sideways."

[-]

Magnus stood, stoically looking through the tides and waves of the warp, watching the approach of Jarod and his cohorts. He wasn't sure why, but no matter what he tried, he could not see the outcome of their meeting. The future was a fickle thing, to begin with, but it seemed that everything involving the two was making the warp shift in ways that were completely unpredictable, even considering his vast sum of knowledge on the subject.

He counted down the hours to their arrival and was ready when they finally exited the warp into the system. He had decided to set up a meeting place on the moon of the Daemon World, a celestial body that, while it had still been touched by the powers of Chaos, would not overwhelm and corrupt a mortal by simply being on its surface.

He watched as the three ships staggered, one remaining at the edge of the system, one reaching halfway between himself and the one before it, and the last coming to meet him. In order to make him seem… less, threatening (Something he'd debated on taking the trouble of doing) Magnus had decided to only have a few dozen marines alongside him, with only a handful of ships in orbit.

Reaching out with his mind, Magnus scanned the thoughts of everyone on the ship, which he quickly realized was named the Emperor's Boot. He found it very interesting that, despite the rabid dogma and ignorant tyranny that the Imperium was built upon, each of the guardsmen under Jarod's command seemed to be well aware that, if things went horribly wrong, that they would be fighting the forces of Chaos, and, while not Magnus specifically, that they would be fighting a very powerful Daemon.

Magnus found himself feeling… respect, towards Jarod and his entourage. Yes, he was still part of the Imperium, and thus an enemy by definition, but he didn't lie to his troops, he didn't force them into terrible conditions, and if Magnus was seeing thing's right, he didn't employ a single commissar among his personal forces.

Then there was Jarod himself. He was making no effort to hide his own soul beyond warding it against the natural predators of the warp, as well as keeping his thoughts, admittedly, well hidden. While it certainly wouldn't be a challenge for Magnus to read his thoughts, he quickly realized that it might be impossible for him to do so without Jarod knowing and trying to fortify his own mind.

Michael's mind was much the same, though his mind, while still guarded by his own ability, was also protected somewhat by Tzeentch. The lock itself was already deteriorating, and it wouldn't surprise Magnus if Michael's powers weren't already showing themselves. Sill, a shortcut was a shortcut, and while the lock would vanish eventually, it would be years, decades even, before Michael had access to his full strength.

Even with that, however, Michael was an open and shut book to the Daemon Primarch.

" **Oh? What's this...? An Aeldari girl? A child?"** Magnus let out his senses again, searching for the Aeldari soul that was the prevailing thought within Michael's mind. Sure enough, hidden by Jarod's own massive soul, was that of an Eldar. He almost missed it, the girl suppressing her soul and Jarod intentionally covering hers with his own.

She was repressing her own soul, which, by Magnus' knowledge, should be a fairly painful experience for her. It was not an entirely difficult thing to do, mind you, but to suppress it to such an extent… He figured they were trying to hide her presence, attempting to keep him from knowing about her.

He chuckled, drawing the gaze of the Astartes around him. If Jarod and Michael were so intent on keeping the girl hidden, perhaps he could use that as leverage.

One of the few marines carrying a vox-caster sent a message up to the ship, informing Jarod and Michael to come down to the Moon's surface and to bring whoever and whatever they wished. It took almost an hour before he finally sensed them leaving the ship, the Aeldari staying onboard. They were likely trying to discuss the likelihood of the meeting being a trap, which, while false, he did not blame them for considering.

The Aquila transport carried seven people; Michael and Jarod for sure, as well as four guardsmen, and a space marine. Magnus smiled as he scanned the Astartes' thoughts, gleaning surface-level information. Calivar, Blackshield. He no longer considered himself a member of his legion, which to Magnus' disgust, happened to be the sons of Leman Russ, the Space Wolves.

While he was normally above petty resentment, the space wolves were still a sore spot for him. They burned Prospero to the ground, shattered his soul, and broke his spine in two.

That last one, despite the illogical nature of it, seemed to anger Magnus the most.

The Aquila landed a good two hundred meters from Magnus and his honor guard, the hatch opening and allowing the occupants to exit. They slowly made their way to Magnus, weapons at the ready.

Each of the guardsmen wore full Carapace armor and were wielding what at first appeared to be standard issue lasguns, but Magnus knew better. These weapons, while still not especially powerful, were more than enough to bring down a space marine, given enough shots were pumped into them. They wore respirators, clearly designed for void combat, likely to keep them from needing to breath the air of the moon. A smart, if paranoid, move.

Calivar wore his black armor, the skulls, and markings of the Emperor covering it. His power sword was drawn, shimmering in the dull yellow sunlight. His pistol was held in his grip, the weapon ready to unleash its ammunition at a moment's notice. His heavy boots clanked against the rocky ground beneath them, giving off a sense of weight that his fluid movements betrayed.

Michael and Jarod were, of course, armed to the teeth. Power armor specifically blessed to ward off the powers of Tzeentch, for what little good it would do. Each hefted a meltagun, ready to unleash its fiery ammunition at whatever earned their wielders ire.

The stopped roughly five meters from Magnus' towering form, which stood at roughly three meters tall all on his own.

"Magnus the Red," Jarod called out, his helmets' vox speakers distorting his voice somewhat.

Magnus nodded, **"Jarod Carolinus, it is a pleasure to finally meet you."**

Jarod nodded, "I assume the air is corrupted? Either that or the ground is. Not sure which is worse."

" **I assure you neither the air nor the ground will harm you or your companions, of that, you have my word."**

Despite his promise, Jarod and his retinue still didn't remove their helmets.

"I came here because you offered me a deal. You offered to unlock Michael's power, but you haven't told me what you want in exchange." Jarod asked.

Magnus smirked, **"Afraid it might be your soul I want?"** he asked.

Jarod shrugged, "Either that or a sandwich."

Magnus paused for a second, internally groaning. He conceded to the fact that Jarod might be working to cover up his fear with humor if nothing else.

" **Indeed. Tzeentch has placed a lock on Michael's soul, which, while it will not block all psychic usage, as I am sure you have realized, it will keep him from manifesting his power in full."** A partial lie, but also a partial truth, **"I am merely offering to break that lock. With the god of change and fate as my patron, it grants me the ability to meddle with his schemes from time to time. Should you accept my offer, I will be able to restore his powers completely."**

"Fine then, we know what you are offering, what do want in return?" Jarod asked.

Manus smiled, **"Denounce your precious Emperor, and admit his lack of divinity."**

Silence reigned, as Jarod discussed the proposal on a private vox-channel. The body language and surface thoughts of the guardsmen portrayed alarm and disgust, even more so when Jarod apparently said something that put them on edge. Still, they kept their weapons down and remained silent.

"You want me to denounce the god-emperor of mankind?" Jarod asked.

Magnus nodded.

"Very well then. Big-E's a right bastard."

Magnus blinked, almost unsure of what he was hearing-

"He's a terrible father, a terrible leader, a downright tyrant, has absolutely no fashion sense whatsoever, and to top it all off, his hair isn't even that good!"

Magnus was about to interrupt, to state his surprise, but Michael picked up where Jarod left off.

"Yeah, seriously, I mean I get that he spent a freaking long time getting right, but did he have to rub it in Fulgrim's face like that? And on top of that, he isn't really even that good looking! Most of its just psychic projection! Just like Magnus' height!"

Magnus paused, realizing what the two of them were saying. He, of course, knew all of this, but he began to become curious as to how two mere mortals - gifted ones, but mortals all the same - had come across such knowledge.

"And I mean, he made the absolute worst choices possible. Hiding the imperial webway-" he had taken his hands off his meltagun, and was now counting on his fingers, "Not telling anyone about Chaos, teleporting Angron instead of going down to freaking help the poor sod, not teaching Konrad some freaking manners, burning Monarchia - which I'm still not convinced happened the way it did in the books - and the council of Nicea! Which, seriously, is just plain insulting to everyone involved."

Magnus was beginning to think he may have to announce the second part of his contract soon, or these two might actually start making him look like a fool.

" **Well, it seems the two of you truly do know your history."** Magnus said, cutting off Michael's rant.

Michael shrugged, "We were ganging up on the Emperor, might as well."

Magnus chuckled, **"While I am determined to ask later how the two of you came across such information, I must inform you of the second part of my offer."**

Everyone in the Rogue traders retinue stiffened, waiting for his announcement.

" **Within the depths of Titan, the moon of the gas giant Jupiter lies the corpse of one of my sons, one who stole the sole remaining shard of my soul. It is the only fragment that I have yet to recover; my Nobility. Recover it, and your debt will be repaid. I have no time range set, as such a thing would be impossible to be completed in a strict time frame, but I am expecting you to find my nobility and return it to me. Should you refuse to do so after receiving my aid… Well, I believe you know more about me and my abilities than most in your wretched Imperium."** Magnus explained.

The fine print went unsaid, of course.

"That's it?" Jarod asked, still holding onto Michael's arm, "No catch? No hidden, fine print?"

Magnus chuckled, **"Of course not. While the followers of Tzeentch may be rife with liars and thieves, I am not one of them."** He lied.

[-]

 **AN: CLIFFHANGER EVERYBODY! This chapter was… not fun to write. Once I moved past the bit on the Emperor's boot and onto the bit with Magnus it got easier, but boy… I was not happy with that. Still, I got it done, and I'm hoping to have the next chapter done soon. On a side note, I'm really liking the new Chapter Master Shrike model, despite all the emo-criticism it's gotten lately. Have you guys not been paying attention to the Raven guard and Corax at all? Emo is their shtick.**


	34. Chapter 34

Jarod gazed at the tower red daemon that stood before him, thinking on what he had said. Magnus had said he wasn't lying, but… well, Tzeentchian honor was an oxymoron.

"You know, I would be inclined to believe you if you weren't such a bad liar," Jarod explained.

Magnus raised an eyebrow, **"And why do you think I am lying? Why would I do such a thing?"** he asked.

"Oh, I don't know, the fact that you're a Chaos Daemon! With a capital C and D! It's common sense to treat anything and everything that has to do with you, as a cyclonic torpedo about to go off in front of you. In other words, we get away, _fast._ " Jarod said, "Unfortunately, you have something we need and/or want, so we kinda need to be in close proximity."

" **So, you admit you want to accept my offer?"** Magnus asked.

Jarod gave him a deadpan stare, "No. I want you to unlock Michael's power, and to leave us alone forever, maybe we could come to an agreement. But as it is, you're probably either going to betray us during or immediately after the process, ritual, or whatever."

"Being honest? I would kind of like to keep my soul as it is." Micahel added.

" **... The two of you are going to be rather difficult to reason with aren't you?"** Magnus noted.

"Please. You live in the forty-first millennium and were born after the Golden Age of Man. You have no idea what reason is at all." Jarod scoffed.

Magnus actually let out a sigh, exasperation clear in his tone. Jarod idly wondered why he hadn't tried to kill them yet but considered the fact that he was probably hoping to get something out of their little exchange.

"What do you want? I mean, really want, out of this exchange?" Jarod asked.

Magnus frowned, **"I've already told you. I want my soul to become whole again. My current form is merely a collection of shards, each of which could be removed at any time, an unfinished puzzle. If I were to recover my Nobility, I would be whole again."**

"And what would you do if you regained your soul?"

The world seemed to go deathly silent, and Jarod was almost positive it was Magnus' doing. His body radiated a blue-red aura, which, in and of itself, was hard to look at.

" **You should not presume to know my motives, mortal."** He said, **"Should I regain my soul, I will all the knowledge and power I had lost when Leman shattered it. I would be whole again, I would have the power to do anything I wished to."**

"But that still doesn't tell me what you will do. Do you seek perfection? If that is the case, then you have already failed, unless you subscribe to Fulgrim's twisted ideology. Do you want power? What more could you gain? You are a daemon prince of Tzeentch, there is only so much higher you can go. Do you want to take revenge? Leman Russ is currently romping through the eye of terror, I don't think it would be that hard to find him. And if not Leman, then the space wolves still hold Fenris as their homeworld. You don't need your shard for any of this. So why do you want us to fetch it for you?" Jarod asked.

Magnus remained eerily still, and though the guardsmen around them couldn't tell, Jarod and Calivar noticed the traitor Astartes gripping their weapons a bit tighter.

" **You tread on dangerous ground, Jarod Carolinus. If I so wished, I could order my sons to open fire and kill you where you stand, or I could simply kill you myself. But you know this. Making threats is redundancy on my part, for you are well aware of how powerful I am, it seems. It also appears that lying to you will not work either. So be it.**

" **I intend to mark Michael's soul, not with a mark of Tzeentch, but one of my own. Should you refuse to return my soul shard, or destroy it, or use it for some other means, I would simply devour Michael's soul, leaving an empty husk."**

Despite the obvious implications, Jarod relaxed slightly. Magnus was getting rid of the subterfuge and trickery, something that was a staple of Tzeentch's followers. He knew that in the time of Guilliman's return, Magnus had become a servant to Tzeentch, and he had lost much of the ambition that had driven him. Hopefully, he hadn't quite reached that point yet.

"While I don't like the idea of Michael's soul getting eaten, I am glad that the pleasantries are out of the way. That said, I do have one last question, or I suppose, one last theory; You are running out of options."

Magnus raised an eyebrow.

"You don't like Tzeentch. You don't like that he holds his power over your head, that you are bound to him by being a daemon prince. If he so chose, you would be nothing more than dust in the wind," The traitor Astartes reacted visibly now, their armor - not shaking, but jerking in what must have been anger - minute movements, "But, if you got your nobility back, got your _soul_ back… who knows what would happen?"

For a long few seconds, no one said anything. Then, Magnus laughed.

It was a booming, horrid sound. It echoed throughout the Material Realm and the Immaterium. Those present shuddered at the sound, be they psyker or normal human, no one quite knew what to make of Magnus' reaction. The Traitor Astartes thought that perhaps, Magnus was laughing at the ridiculousness of the offer, that he would never betray lord Tzeentch. And yet… there was a twitch in the back of their minds, something that told them that what Jarod was saying might actually be true.

The guardsmen gripped their weapons tighter, praying to the Emperor that they would come out alright. Jarod had warned them earlier when he'd insulted and blasphemed the Emperor, that he would be using unorthodox methods when confronting Magnus. They were aware of this, and yet, as prepared as they were, it wasn't easy to just stand by and watch.

Calivar was perhaps the most level-headed thinker, knowing what Jarod was doing to an extent. He was using what knowledge he had on Magnus, making the Daemon Primarch curious. If he could play off of Magnus' curiosity, then they might be able to get out of this situation alive.

Michael had a headache. And a bad one. Magnus' laugh echoed through his mind, and though Lucius stayed silent, Micahel could almost feel the Emperor's Children marine gritting his non-existent teeth. His thought's on Magnus' plans for him were rather simple; he'd expected them from day one.

" **You truly are observant, and though I am curious as to how you gained such knowledge, I will not dispute it. I am not running out of options, however, yet you do know of my plan. Yes, I wish to free myself from Tzeentch's control. It is not a secret, as even the Lord of Change himself is aware of that fact."** Magnus said with a smile.

Jarod grinned underneath his helmet, "Well then, I think we may have found an agreement."

Magnus blinked. To anyone without knowledge of a Primarch and their mannerisms, this might have been nothing to consider. But when you took into account that this was a _Primarch,_ it gave off the impression that Magnus was surprised by Jarod's agreement.

" **You… agree?"** He asked warily.

Jarod shrugged, "Not to the marking Michael's soul part, no way I'm letting you do that, but if you do unlock his power… well, we stand only to gain by returning your nobility. So, what do you plan to do?"

Magnus smiled, **"This,"** the Primarch said, before waving his hand in Michael's direction.

Jarod's eyes widened, "WAIT-"

And he was cut off by a bright explosion of white light.

[-]

The first thing Michael noticed was the lack of the oily smell that permeated the inside of his power armor. Ever since he'd gotten it from the Techpriests it had been covered in the scent. At first, he hadn't minded, understanding that there were a lot of techpriests that preferred to lather everything they touched in oil, but after wearing it for a few minutes, it got old pretty quickly.

Still, the lack of scent was the least of what he'd noticed. Opening his eyes, he saw a bright blue sky, with white puffy clouds floating overhead. He stood up, looking around at the landscape around him. A desert. Not the dune, sand filled, windy deserts of Egypt, but the rocky, red-brown deserts of mid-west America. Dead grass and bushes littered the ground, and in the distance, he saw giant rust-colored towers of rock jutting up out of the ground.

In Michael's opinion, it was both beautiful and ugly at the same time. On one hand, it was pretty to look at, but on the other, _holy crap it was hot!_ __Michael hated hot weather and the fact that he was in a literal desert wasn't helping things.

' _Hey, Lucius? You know what happened?'_ he asked mentally.

"I am afraid I know as little as you do of the situation." he heard Lucius' voice from behind him.

Spinning around, Michael found himself face-to-face with a very large space marine, that being Lucius. Michael at first wondered how Lucius had gotten out of his head before he quickly came to the conclusion that he was either within his own mind, and that the desert was just a figment of his imagination, and that Magnus had done something when he'd hand waved in his direction.

"What happened? Last I remember we were discussing Magnus' offer, then all of a sudden Magnus did something warp-y and now here we are."

Lucius frowned, gazing at the landscape around them, "It is quite possible that Magnus did indeed unlock your power and you are simply unconscious due to the psychic backlash."

Michael stared at him, eyebrow raised.

"Or something else happened. I'm not all-knowing, nor am I a psyker."

Rolling his eyes, Michael tried to focus on bringing the temperature down a bit, as well as changing the scenery. He succeeded in the former, but the latter befuddled him. It almost felt as if something or someone was purposefully keeping the terrain as it was.

" **You do have an…** _ **Interesting**_ **mind, Michael."** Michael heard a voice say behind him. Spinning around, he found himself staring at none other than Magnus the Red, _in his own mind!_

"You! What are you doing in my head!?" Michael asked, panicking slightly.

Magnus chuckled, **"You truly are one of a kind. I am inside your mind because that is all I** _ **can**_ **do with your current state. Now, I'm sure I could kill you if I were to put enough effort into it, but that would be breaking our contract."** he explained.

Michael paused, his eyes narrowing at Magnus' words, "Contract?" he asked.

" **Why, yes! I have made a contract with Jarod, in exchange for removing the lock Tzeentch had placed upon your soul, you would return my nobility. I will admit, I did force his hand somewhat, but I think it worked out well in the end."** Magnus explained.

"And what about you marking my soul?" Michael said with a grimace.

At this, Magnus frowned, **"Listen well, Michael, I could not mark your soul even if I wanted to. Your soul has similar properties to that of Jarod's own, as well as the corpse-Emperor's and my brother Guilliman. Your very nature rejects chaos, and to an extent, you are anathema to it. It actually takes quite a bit of concentration for me to speak with you like this, especially with Jarod guarding your soul like a dog."** he said with a sneer.

He idly turned to face Lucius, **"Of course, speaking of surprises, when did you manage to bind the soul of** _ **Lucius the Eternal**_ **to your own?"** he asked.

Lucius laughed, and Michael groaned.

"For the record, if the sword had actually killed him instead of me having to deal with him trying to convert me to Slaanesh, I wouldn't mind at all. As it is, well, when he tried to take over my body and revive himself, I decided I liked living more than I did dying." Michael explained, "So I smacked him with a hammer."

Lucius laughed, "And thus, we have been sharing his mind-scape together for quite some time! Why I'm the one who trained him in the art of swordsmanship even. Now, if I could just get him to indulge in some of life's more carnal pleasures…"

"Not. Happening." Michael ground out.

" **If the two of you will stop… bickering, I do have a few questions. First, Michael, how do you know so much about me, my father, and my rise to Chaos?"** he asked.

Michael grimaced, "I don't think you want an answer to that." He warned.

" **I am afraid you are not in any position to deny me right now, Michael. Now, how did you learn of such information?"**

Michael sighed, "If I tell you, it _will_ shatter your worldview. Are you prepared for that?" he asked.

" **Please, I sincerely doubt that there is anything a mortal like yourself could do, a descendant of the Emperor or not,"** he remarked.

Michael took a deep breath, for all it mattered, before waving a hand in front of him. Between himself and Magnus, appeared a wooden table. The table itself was nothing special, but what was on it… well, that was something Magnus wasn't sure what to make of. Pieces of plastic terrain covered the table, and amidst that terrain, were two groups of plastic miniatures. One group, Magnus recognized as the Astartes of the blood angels, the other, was very clearly based on the Xenos known as the Tyranids.

He was about to ask more questions when the models began moving on their own. Clearly, by Michael's own control, they moved in combat against one another.

"This something I like to call Warhammer forty thousand." Michael stated, "It is a table-top wargame created by a company called Games Workshop, in the third millennium."

Magnus blinked and was about to laugh in Michael's face for coming up with such a ridiculous story when two more armies came onto the table. One was the Necrons, and the second was none other than his thousand sons. Magnus paused his accusations, looking at the table with gradually increasing interest.

"They created this universe as fiction, as an over-the-top, rule of cool universe meant to sell exorbitantly over-priced plastic miniatures to middle-aged men. Everything you see here is an approximation of what they created, and what to me, has become a reality."

Magnus stared at the battle that took place on the table. He watched as the Tyranids and thousand sons tore each other apart, how the blood angels and Necrons wiped out the stragglers, only to turn upon each other and wipe one another out. It was… hideous, and beautiful at the same time. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what to make of it.

" **And you say, that everything here, was a work of fiction? All our struggles, everything we have fought for, everything we have sacrificed?"** He asked warily.

Michael shrugged, "I will put it this way. You can choose to ignore what I've said, and by all accounts, that doesn't change anything. But, how else can you explain what I know? Was I with the Emperor, watching him while he worked? Did he share his secrets with me and Jarod? And how do you explain what I know is coming? Abaddon's thirteenth black crusade, the fall of Cadia, your imprisonment within the warp, the resurrection of Guilliman, the return of the Silent King?"

" **... Let us suppose you are telling the truth, and not lying. What does this mean? For me, for the Imperium, for the Ruinous Powers, for all those who do not know that their world is a work of fiction. What does this mean for them?"**

"Then they continue to live their lives. Nothing is stopping them, and really, Games Workshop isn't one to mess with the inner workings of an Agri-world farmer, but truth be told, I can already say that the wheels of time have been thoroughly derailed." Michael explained.

Magnus grimaced, **"If that is the case, then what do you plan to do?"**

Michael chuckled, "Well, you and Lucius know my secret now. So what's stopping you from interrogating me further? Of course, you've also said you want your nobility back. You know where that is right? Sitting on Titan, inside the corpse of Janus, one of the founding members of the Grey Knights, and one of the only loyalist Thousand Sons.

"As far as what I plan to do now? Well, you and Jarod made a deal. I doubt Jarod's going to be doing much beyond working to get you your nobility back. He has a goal, and he's going to accomplish that goal. Far as I go…? Well, I'll probably be helping him."

[-]

Jarod grimaced as he watched over Michael's sleeping form. The second Magnus had waved his hand, Michael had exploded in a white light of psychic energy. Everything touched by chaos in the area burned. Even Magnus' physical form. It was not a pretty sight. After the initial shock had worn off, and Michael had been transported up to the ship, Jarod had gotten into a heated debate with the daemon.

He had… well, chastised, would probably be the right word, for activating Michael's powers before they were ready, and had caused quite a bit of panic. Magnus had responded with his explanation that, even if he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to mark Michael's soul. His soul was, just like Jarod, Anathema to chaos. He explained that he was currently having a psychic conversation with him, and it was quite difficult to do so whilst he felt like he was burning.

The traitor Astartes had turned to run, making their way to the limit of the psychic blast, then collapsing. In a way, it was very similar to the effect Jarod had caused on Raxis Prime, only on a much smaller scale.

That had all happened three hours ago.

Now, Jarod sat in the room where Michael slept, With Kiara napping beside him. They had only made a short warp jump away from the system, an hour flight at most, and were sitting in the vast void of space, far from any systems. He was in the process of warding their minds, suppressing their warp presence enough that they didn't have to worry about getting attacked by daemons.

Kiara would be fine without his efforts, of course, her spirit stone and training making it so that the creatures of the warp barely noticed her. Micahel, on the other hand, had received no training at all and looked like a shining lighthouse within th warp, attracting all sorts of creatures to him that tried - and failed, mind you - to possess him. Granted that wasn't just due to Jarod warding his mind, Michael's soul was similar to Jarods, if a bit dimmer. If he had to guess, where Jarod had an eighth of the emperor's power, Michael had something like a tenth.

Jarod mentally processed his family tree - and Michael's, to the best of his ability - to try and figure out just who the Emperor had been in their family line. Unfortunately, he knew next to nothing about Michael's extended family tree, and his knowledge of his own didn't reveal anything interesting. The Emperor appeared to be very good at covering his tracks if nothing else.

Jarod was brought out of his thoughts by Karev entering the room and clearing his throat in order to gain Jarod's attention.

"So, the meeting went… acceptably?" Karev asked.

Jarod grimaced, "Well, we got Michael's power unlocked, we just have to wait for him to wake up, and who knows how long that'll take. Still, it went far better than it could have."

Karev nodded, his eyes examining Michael, "What will you do now?"

Jarod paused, thinking the situation over. He had a goal, now, something to work towards. If he did things carefully, he might be able to play things out in his favor.

"I have an idea," Jarod said, "What does it take, to become an Inquisitor?" he asked.

Karev's eyes narrowed, "Quite a lot, I am afraid. I am almost fifty years old, and I have been in the employ of the Inquisition for as long as I can remember, and I have only become an Inquisitor in the last five years." he admitted.

Jarod ran a hand through his beard, "Well, I have a request of you," he stated, "I need a recommendation. A fast track, if you will, into the ranks of the Inquisition. You know my goal, I mean to destroy Chaos. I'm already a rogue trader; I have near unlimited power outside the Imperium, but that is not enough. I need to be able to work within the Imperium as well, and as much power as I have already, I don't think it will be enough."

Karev frowned, "You want to become an inquisitor quickly, I presume?" he asked, and Jarod nodded, "Then I may have something for you."

Karev pulled a data-slate out of his coat and began typing away, before pulling up a single document. He handed the device to Jarod, and when Jarod read it, he almost facepalmed.

The title of the document read: "Lord Inquisitor Quercus of the Ordo Xenos school for Inquisitors."

[-]

 **AN: FINALLY! An end to the mess that is the Magnus arc… ugh, I realized how badly it is this chapter, as I basically dropped all sense of secrecy in revealing Michael's origins to Magnus and Lucius. This won't have much effect in the short term, as Magnus doesn't believe Michael yet, but Michael and Lucius will be having further conversations soon.**

 **I've come to dread the way I've written this arc, and honestly… if it weren't so entrenched into how I wanted to write the story from here on out, I might just scrap it entirely and start over, but I really would rather not rewrite 20k+ words at this point...**

 **On a separate note, Jarod is now going to Literal Inquisitorial kindergarten. Fun!**


	35. Chapter 35

Magnus grit his teeth as he stared at the grey, dead husk that was the Daemon world where he had met Jarod. It had been a month since he had made the contract, and while he was successful in calming Jarod down and reassuring him that Michael was alright with the situation, he was not happy with what happened a day after they left.

He had not seen the beam of green energy that struck the planet. It defied the warp, it laughed at all the magic defenses and wards that had coated the planet's atmosphere. Through all of his perceived precognitions, never once had he Foreseen the destruction of the labyrinthian library.

What made it worse was that he could not rely on warp-based technology to calculate the trajectory of the beam. It was Necron in origin, that much he was sure - the Imperium did not have the technology to do such a thing, as even exterminatus would not have been able to strip the planet of any warp born influence. The impossible structures collapsed in on themselves, the crystal labyrinth shattered, and everything living on the planet stripped of their mutations and gifts, or simply outright killed. Daemons were banished as well, screaming in agony as they were thrown back into the warp.

It was not the same as when Jarod used his own abilities, no, that was different. Jarod's abilities were akin to a holy flame, a hot iron that purged the corrupting influences of chaos. This… this was different. It was more akin to tearing the immaterial and material apart from one another, separating one another in a way that Magnus had never seen before.

After a month, Magnus had finally managed to find where the beam had come from. He could not track the beam in the conventional sense, so they needed to calculate the direction of the beam and then track the coordinates in the direction of where it came from. There were several planets in that direction, but they also needed to account for where the planet's original positions had been when the beam went off. It wasn't so much difficult as it was tedious.

When they did locate the beams planet of origin, it made Magnus grimace. A dormant Necron Tomb world deemed to have too few recourses to be colonized to the imperium, and as of the last time he checked, the Necron's still hadn't awakened. Still, the ancient race of metal Xenos was far more advanced than the current factions of humanity, even in their own decrepit state.

Magnus teleported from his position on the bridge of his own ship to the large recreational hall that existed within the bowels of the ship. The Astartes in the room all jumped at his sudden appearance, but for the most part, settled down once they realized it was the Primarch. They did not relax, however, if anything they were tenser than they were before he had entered the room. Regardless, Magnus looked over the seventeen Astartes in the room.

Each of them was a leader of their own warband, and though they were less than loyal to anyone save themselves, but even the most arrogant of sorcerers would have a difficult time refusing the Primarch and expecting to live. Well, Ahriman was an exception of course, but he was also one of the few Magnus didn't really _want_ to show up.

" **All of you stand before me, each of you coming here with your warbands. I will admit, I expected more of you, but you will do."** He started, before turning to two warband leaders with minimal mutations, **"Roth, Yamil, the two of you will go to the planet of Laphon I. I want you to discover and destroy whatever weapon it was that destroyed the library. Do this, and you will be rewarded. Fail… and you shall suffer the consequences."**

The two warlords nodded and turned to leave, walking through the blast door that would lead them to where their transports had docked. The rest of the traitor marines stood vigilant, awaiting whatever orders Magnus might give them.

" **The rest of you… I expect you to continue your previous activities, but I will give you an order above that. Should you ever encounter the man known as Jarod Carolinus, you are to avoid him at all costs. Failing that, aid him when possible. I will not accept his death by any of your hands."**

He dismissed them, before teleporting to his personal library. Shelves lined the walls, all filled his tomes, books, scrolls, and parchments that held knowledge known and unknown, ever-changing and forbidden. Magnus frowned as he began parsing through the books that detailed the universe he lived in. Michael claimed that his universe was a work of fiction and that for him, none of this had been real up till this point in history.

Books on the third millennium were near nonexistent, as even the Emperor did not have many from that era, but if anyone did hold the knowledge, it was Tzeentch. He had a lot of research to do.

[-]

Landon stared out the clear window that was in his cell. He had been stripped of his armor, of his weapons, and of anything that might have aided him in escaping the Xenos built cell. He was kept out of stasis by the Necrons and humans on the planet so that they could attempt to convince him to join them. A prospect which the Chapter Master was… adverse to, at the very least.

He turned to the blue force field wall that kept him from leaving the cell, the opaque surface keeping him from seeing the hallways that were doubtless lined with other cells that held his brothers in stasis, as well as however many other criminals or loyal Imperial's that did not submit to the Necron's will.

He frowned, clenching and unclenching his bare fist. They had stripped him of his armor and weapons, depriving him of any way to defend himself or make any progress in escaping. All he wore was a set of plain blue robes, which would serve no defense of any kind save keeping his modesty.

He would readily admit that the Necrons were being far more reasonable than any Xenos he had ever encountered before, including the few times the Aeldari had tried to form a truce with him, their arrogance had overshadowed what goodwill they did have with him. Which, admittedly, wasn't much.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when the opaque wall suddenly became transparent and beyond it, he saw the Pharekh, Nevha, standing before him. He would admit she was larger than he was, standing over three meters tall, possible four if he were to measure her accurately. She held in one hand a staff, which glowed with a powerful blue light, ready to cut down her enemies, or if he offended her, Landon himself.

"What do you want, Xeno? I have listened to your arguments, and I am firm in my stance. I will not join you, and I will not condone the actions of the traitors that stand alongside you."

She looked down at him, her eyes glowing blue with no emotion visible, "I am here because I require your aid." she said simply.

The chapter master frowned, "What could possibly make you believe I would offer my aid to you when you hold me and my brothers captive like dogs?"

She stood, stock still as she stared at him. They stood in silence for several moments before she answered, "You are aware of the traitors to the Imperium, those who have aligned themselves to the dark powers, correct?" she asked.

He grimaced but gave a firm nod.

She nodded once, "In that case, that is what I require your assistance with. We do not possess any means of dealing with the psychic abilities of our enemies, and even as we speak, a dozen ships of the chaotic Thousand Sons make their way to this world."

"What?" Landon asked, his eyes going wide as he realized what she was asking, "You are asking me to assist you in _fighting_ the traitors?" he asked.

"Yes, and while I am just as capable of dealing with them myself, I do not wish to sacrifice the lives of the guardsmen placed under my care. I would use our great weapon again, but according to the Cryptek, it could very well take years before it is recharged enough to use." she explained.

Landon frowned, considering her offer. On the one hand, she was a filthy Xeno, unfit to fight alongside the servants of the Imperium, and yet here she was, asking him to help her fight his traitorous kin. She was actively fighting against the enemies of mankind and protecting those who were under her purview. It was an honorable act, even if she was a Xeno.

"To add to that, should you help us, you will be free to go." she said abruptly.

He narrowed his eyes, "What is your ploy? You say we would be free to go, and yet I somehow find myself doubting the truth in those words."

She shrugged, her metal shoulders making no sound as the moved, "I will not try to manipulate you, Chapter Master, but I will tell you this. I have no interest in seeing you dead, as that will serve no purpose. You are more valuable to not just me, but the entire human race, alive rather than dead." she explained.

Landon frowned, considering her words. It was true, in a sense, that he was more valuable to everyone alive. Warm bodies could fight, and work. But she was also asking him to abandon everything he lived for. To sacrifice his oaths and honor as an Adeptus Astartes. He was about to turn her down for the nth time when he felt something crawling on his hand.

Looking down, he saw dozens, no, hundreds of tiny machines crawling along with his hands. Individually, they were near invisible but gathered as they were, it was a dark grey splotch against his skin, the crawling sensation flooding his nerves. He tried to slap away the machines, put to no avail.

"What are these!? What are you doing!" he demanded.

She tilted her head downward slightly, "They are called mind shackle scarabs. Should you refuse my offer, I will a single one of these into the center of your brain, rewiring it to my needs. These Scarabs will take control of your nervous system, your very being, bending you to my will. I am showing this to prove to you that I do not _need_ your consent. For the past month, I have been trying to convince you to assist me willingly. Now, I ask you. Will you fight against the Ruinous powers alongside your kin, or will I be forced to reduce you to a mere slave?" she asked.

Landon grit his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek and drawing blood. She was more powerful than anything he had ever faced, and he would have to be _very_ careful in how he answered.

[-]

Yamil was a sensible sorcerer, as much as any servant of Tzeentch could be. Roth was leading half the fleet they had brought to deal with the Necrons on the planet, and while the brute was not dumb by any measure, he had yet to pick up on any of Yamil's plans to usurp him and combine both fleets. The Primarch had chosen the two of them for this mission, and Yamil had been eyeing Roth's fleet for quite some time now. It was fate, in its cruelest, most base form.

Yamil smiled, as he stood aboard the ship's observation deck, looking out at the vast emptiness of space before them. The auspex had read six ships of Imperial origin, three belonging to the space marines of the Astral Winds chapter. He chuckled silently, thinking on his loyalist cousins. Or, rather, loyalist brothers, considering they shared the same gene-seed.

It was an open secret among the higher-ranking members of the thousand sons of which space marine chapters the Mechanicus had seen fit to found off their fathers gene-seed. The Astral Winds and the Blood Ravens were but two of many, several of which had already turned to the everchanging will of Tzeentch.

Still, if the space marines had sought to attack a tomb world, it would explain why the weapon had fired at all. It would take them a few days to reach the point where they could enter combat with the Imperial vessels, so the majority of the crew simply prepared. The Astartes - numbering in the realm of roughly six hundred between his and Roth's fleet - prepared their armor and weapons, praying to the gods and seeking strength.

The mortals on the ships, of which there were thousands, if not tens of thousands on board each ship, likewise prepared. Still, it was unlikely any of them would see combat. If they were to go down to the surface they would likely be used as little more than cannon fodder for the more dangerous and well-equipped space marines.

As they traveled, Yamil kept an eye on the loyalist ship's movements, noting that despite them being well within sensor range, they had yet to move in any way.

"How long until we are within weapons range?" Yamil asked the Astartes that ran the helm.

"Two hours until we are at maximum range, my lord. Seven before effective range."

Yamil nodded, taking the knowledge into consideration. It was odd, really, that even so close as they were, they were not reacting, "Set a course for the lead strike cruiser. If they truly are dead in the void I would like-"

He was cut off when the ships rumbled, "What was that!?" he demanded.

"Damage to our rear void shields! Something is behind us!" the crewman answered.

The ship shook again, and Yamil looked at the Auspex to see what was behind them. Only three ships, not of Imperial of chaos origin, were firing on the chaos vessels from farther than they could reciprocate.

"What are they!?" The sorcerer demanded.

"Necron vessels my lord! Three of them just out of weapons range. They are not dealing any significant damage, but they are gradually draining the void shields. It will not be long before the shields get to critical points."

Yamil cursed, "Raise Roth on the vox!" he ordered, and the crewman complied.

" _What is it Yamil!? I am currently dealing with three unknown ships attacking our rear. This is not the time for games."_ the warlord asked.

"I am aware of our predicament _Roth,_ which is why I am asking you to send your ships to go deal with them. We will continue to the planet to combat the loyalists while a few of your ships deal with our rear. I am sure you do not see any fault in that."

" _Oh no, you don't. I am not sending_ my _ships to go fight the Xenos only to have you betray me down on the planet's surface! No, I will only send two of my ships, and only if you send an equal number."_ Roth demanded.

Yamil cursed, wondering when Roth had picked up on his wish to usurp his warband. He shook his head, there would be time to deal with the warlord later, and he could not afford to have foreign ships at his rear.\

"Fine. I will send two of my ships but know this Roth, I will be watching the reports from them. Should you attempt to leave them dead in the void, _I will know._ " he warned.

" _Just be sure you do not do the same,"_ Roth said before the vox clicked off.

Soon after four ships broke off from the main fleet, heading toward the Necron ships. Unless more were hiding in the shadows, they could deal with them. Soon, they were moving ever closer to the planet, and ever closer to the effective range of their weapons. Reading the readouts from the two ships he sent off, it seemed as if the Necron ships were avoiding them, darting off whenever they got too close, staying far enough that the ships couldn't do any real damage, and too far for them to do any damage themselves.

A distraction if he'd ever seen one. The question was what this distraction was for. Keeping the fact in the back of his mind, he turned his focus to the Loyalist ships in front of him. A few more minutes and they would be in the perfect position to fire upon them.

Those few minutes passed quickly, and the second they were in position, both Yamil and Roth gave the order to fire.

Lascannons, torpedoes, missiles, and Macro-cannons all launched forward, hitting dead on. It wasn't until they passed through the ships and the forms began to waver that Yamil realized exactly why the ships hadn't moved in the slightest… and that moon was worryingly close.

"All ships turn about and brace for impact!" he shouted into the vox, just seconds before the ship shook with the impact of a half-dozen macro-cannon rounds impacting the void shields.

Running another auspex scan, he picked up the six ships as they came out from behind Laphon I's moon. Another volley and the ship shook again, but this time Yamil ordered the weapons crews to return fire, and with eight ships outnumbering the loyalists six - even with their element of surprise - it was only a matter of time before the tides turned in his favor.

All ships, loyalists and traitors alike, traded blows. Void shields were drained and hulls were breached, and it wasn't long before the first ship went down.

One of the Chaos vessels, a ship belonging to Roth's warband, took significant damage to its main engines. When those went off, it started a chain reaction with all of the other ammunition batteries and fuel stores caused the ship to explode in a rage of fire. The Astartes of the ship managed to evacuate, but only due to their own diligence. The mortals aboard were not so fortunate.

It wasn't long before one of the Loyalists ships was heavily damaged as well, at the same time as one of Yamil's own ships was damaged. Both ships moved back to the rear of their respective formations. Taking a moment to look at the readouts from the two ships he had sent out to deal with the Necron ships, he noted that the Necrons had become more aggressive. He cursed his luck. The Xenos were likely trying to keep their enemies together, force them to kill each other before preying on what was left.

Because they were being more aggressive now, the ships he sent could not simply move back to the larger formation in fear of taking significant damage.

It wasn't long before both sides had taken significant enough damage that they would need to pull back from each other in order to keep from getting too committed to one battle. If they did that then there would be no way to return to where they had come from. A single engagement was not enough to decide how the entire would pan out, but Yamil would admit he was pleased with how it had gone.

The four ships that had been sent to deal with the Necrons slowly managed to get away from their opponents and made contact with the rest of the fleet. They were damaged, though not severely. In truth, they were probably in the best shape of any of the Chaos vessels.

Regardless, now that they were not in constant engagement, Yamil and Roth sent out their orders; "Prepare for landfall, and prepare to mutilate the loyalist dogs."

[-]

 **AN: Soooo…. I'm back? Yeah, it's been a while since I've updated this story, and I'll admit that's partially my own fault. I've been reading a ton of Worm fics as of late and even started my own on Spacebattles (for those of you reading on FF), so that's one thing thats been eating me. Another reason is that I've been busy with work and home remodeling, so hopefully, now that the latter is at least finished, I can write some more.**

 **Another thing to not is that for a while I'd almost given up on this story. It started out as pretty much pure crack, but now? Still some cracky elements, but I like to think I have a functional plot at this point. Still, I was on the verge of giving up on the story or just rebooting it from the beginning, minimize the crack, and just go from there.**

 **In the end, as you can see here, I've decided to move on with the story as it is. In all its plot-holey goodness.**

 **Oh! And I know I announced it on the spacebattles forum already (I think) but have a Pat/|/reon now, so if you want to buy me a soda or something, you can join the discord and take a look at my current writing projects and what I'm working on.**


	36. Chapter 36

Sarge was… not necessarily livid, but no one would call his current state of emotion 'happy.' He had just been 'promoted' to Interrogator, and while that was probably a good thing as far as our paychecks were concerned, it meant that we'd need to deal with even more nonsense and inquisitorial red tape than ever before.

On the upside, we did get a bit more leeway in terms of how we were allowed to run things.

Our first mission, assigned to us by Professor Oak himself, was a joint one. We were going to be working alongside another interrogator under an Inquisitor of the Ordo Xenos, a man named Karev. Karev was supposedly pretty new to being an Inquisitor, and this mission was meant to help him learn how to train other prospective Inquisitors. We were told to wait for them to show up at a set of coordinates, and to expect them to be… eccentric. We weren't exactly optimistic.

The Occurrence Border was parked just above some random Agri-world while we waited for them to arrive.

Nubby used the time to travel back and forth down to the planet, always coming back with a large haul of sometimes useful, sometimes useless, junk, Twitch was trying to figure out how many explosives he could fit in the doorway to our quarters, Doc was spending time with his girlfriend, Sarge was trying desperately to keep the ship's captain from abandoning the mission entirely, and Tink was just trying to mess with Spot. Fumbles and Aimy were mostly just trying to keep from losing their sanity. We tried to help the former as much as we could, as we really didn't need the one Psyker we actually liked to get possessed by a daemon.

All in all, we were prepared for just about anything.

The first sign that something was off was when two ships came out of the warp a _bit_ closer to us then should have been reasonable. It normally would have taken them a couple of weeks to get from the edge of the system to the planet, but no, these guys decided to exit the warp a day's flight away from the planet. That in and of itself was enough to set us on edge.

The vox transmission from the lead ship telling us to meet the Inquisitor and Interrogator down on the planet was the second red flag. We wondered why they didn't just order us to meet them on their own ship, or maybe they come to us, but they said to meet down on the surface.

Sarge was suspicious, to say the least.

Regardless of that suspicion, he agreed, and our whole group traveled down to the cities main settlement. Nubby greeted a few of the locals, who just ignored him or started to run screaming. None of us questioned it, but Sarge did send Nubby a glare.

Two more Aquila's made their way to the landing dock, one holding the Inquisitor and his retinue, and the other being the Interrogator and his.

The first one opened, and a blonde man strode out, followed by a pair of guardsmen, a tech-priest, and a Psyker. We were all set on edge when we saw him, and he seemed to wince as we tensed. He whispered something to the Inquisitor, who just sighed and nodded. We prayed to the Emperor he wasn't another Snitch.

Everyone turned to look at the last ship as it opened. We were expecting a normal group of guardsmen, clerics, Tech-priests, maybe some psykers if we were unlucky.

What we did _not_ expect, was for the Interrogator to walk out of the transport with a _frakking space marine walking behind him!_ We were beyond tense by that point, and the Space Marine probably knew it. None of us really had the courage to ask how or why the Interrogator had gotten one of the greatest super soldiers in the Imperium as part of his retinue.

"WE'RE WORKING WITH SPACE MARINES!?" At least until Tink opened his stupid mouth.

He was tackled by Twitch and Nubby, who almost strangled him for making a potentially negative impression on something that could very easily kill everyone in the surrounding area. Fortunately, the Interrogator seemed to think our reaction was funny, as he started laughing at our antics.

It was at that moment that we actually took the time to take our eyes off the black-armored space Marine and to look at the Interrogator who we were supposed to work alongside. He was short. That was the first thing we noticed about him. Not as short as Nubby, but definitely shorter than everyone around him. His black coat was only marred by the very guardsman-like fatigues underneath it, along with the alcohol flask and power sword at his hip.

He introduced himself as Jarod Carolinus, Rogue Trader and Inquisitor in training. That one phrase sent some of us scratching our heads. Nubby asked how someone could be both, Twitch asked _why_ someone would be both, and Doc answered both of them by saying that if this guy was both, then he would be one of the most powerful people I'm the Imperium.

That made many of our brows rise. How much power did this guy have already, and why did he need more?

The space marine overheard us - unsurprisingly - and seemed to signal Jarod somehow. Probably some kind of vox-bead or something. Regardless, Jarod started laughing.

"You have no idea what I have planned. I'm not going to say that's a good thing, but it's gonna be fun to see the looks on your faces when you find out." His grin was vicious, and none of us were quite sure what to make of the ominous-sounding remark.

Anyway, once the introductions were out of the way, Inquisitor Karev explained the rough outline of what our next mission would be. There was a Tyranid Splinter fleet that had been rampaging through Imperial space in a straight line, something that made most of us shudder. The main theory was that there was that somewhere in its path was a gene-stealer cult, which had been drawing it in that direction.

Most of the planets eaten by the 'nids had been outpost worlds or feral worlds. Nothing particularly worth going after, but the fleet was getting uncomfortably close to a cluster of hive worlds that no one really wanted to lose. Our mission was to travel ahead of the splinter fleets path in order to figure out where their end goal was and root out the gene-stealers. Or failing that, find a good staging point to deal with the fleet.

It wasn't ideal. We weren't sure how long it would take to deal with the problem, or if it could be dealt with at all for that matter, but considering our current company none of would say it would be impossible. We had a space marine on our side after all!

In the end, we decided to head to the first planet that was likely to have a gene-cult on it. According to the dossier, it was a simple agri-world with an above-average population and a primary output of grox-meat. Not the prime location for a Tyranid invasion, but it was a place to start.

With three ships in total, we linked up and made our way into the warp. It was largely uneventful, with only two minor demonic incursions and a few nightmares here and there. Honestly, the Occurrence Border held up better than it ever did before, which was exactly the reason almost all of us were put on edge. Don't get us wrong, we weren't about to look a gift horse in the mouth, but it felt like the universe was just waiting to screw us over.

Admittedly, the fact that we didn't have to deal with Karev or Jarod's crews also probably helped. Unfortunately, this meant that we didn't get any time to try and judge their character, but most of us figured we could do that later. It took a few weeks of warp travel, and another two weeks of realspace travel for us to get to the planet in question. Karev informed Both us and Jarod that we would be going down to the surface in order to meet with the planetary governor and that the Interrogators and their retinues would be staying in one of the homes of a local politician.

When Tink if this meant we were going to be sharing a roof with a space marine, Sarge relayed the question to Inquisitor Karev. He said that it all depended on Jarod, and whether or not he decided that a Space Marine would be appropriate to bring on a diplomatic mission. None of us were particularly optimistic about that answer.

While the Occurrence Border's captain parked the ship at the planet's spaceport alongside the other two Inquisitorial vessels, we headed down to the planet's surface. All three means of transport were greeted by the Planetary Governor and his entourage. The man himself was thin, with a grey beard and a bald head. He wore a fairly simple green shirt and pants, though they were very clearly made of high-quality material, more-so than any of the peasants could have gotten their hands on.

As we exited the transport we got a good look at the teams that had been brought alongside the other interrogator and the Inquisitor. Karev was flanked by the same retinue we saw when we first met the man, but Jarod's retinue was different. At least, he had more than just a space marine at his side this time. Flanking him opposite from the space marine was a scribe, who had been furiously typing on a data-slate the moment he got off the transport. Behind them were a pair of guardsmen who were carrying basic lasguns and wearing basic flak armor. Nothing special there.

The Inquisitor greeted the governor cordially enough, and after explaining that we were here on a 'top secret inquisitorial mission' we were eventually escorted to where we would be staying. Unlike the vast hive cities we had experienced before, the agri-world was far less dense in its population centers, so the vehicle that we were currently driving in - a combination APC and limousine - was actually able to travel at speeds greater than twenty kilometers per hour. We were grateful that it was this and not some half-destroyed old van.

The house we were staying in was a three-story building with enough rooms to hold a platoon of men. Not exactly the pinnacle of luxury, but it was far more than we'd had before. Once we got inside, we noticed that the place had a very lived-in feel to it, and after a bit of snooping around, we figured out that it had been. None of us really cared about the fact, until Interrogator Jarod asked where the family that lived here had been sent. The governor explained that they had been evicted as soon as Inquisitor Karev had requested a place to stay for the immediate future.

Jarod's frown was not an expression we liked.

The Interrogator walked up to the governer, looking the man up and down. Jarod was, while not by much, shorter than the governor. He calmly stated that he did not ask what had been done to them, he asked where they had been sent. The governor seemed to grow pale, before straightening himself and stating that they had been sent to the country-side with a relative of theirs.

Now, here's the thing. Up to this point, we'd had a fairly good impression of Jarod, if a bit of a terrified one. You probably didn't get a space marine in your employ by being nice… well, you might, but we didn't exactly have any real positive experience in that area. Regardless, we'd figured Jarod was probably a polite, possibly eccentric man. What we didn't expect was for him to immediately refute the claim that the former residents had been sent to a relative's house, and to claim on his own that the family was being kept prisoner and awaiting fast-tracked trial and execution.

Now, at first, none of us were quite sure what this meant. We'd compiled notes later, with Doc suggesting Jarod had an information network on the planet before we'd gotten here, Nubby theorizing that Jarod knew the family personally, Tink suggesting that maybe he had a secret group under his command running surveillance on the Governor since we'd arrived in system, all the while Twitch was convinced that the Governor was an Ork and Jarod had figured out the plot.

None of these theories ended up being true, well at least mostly, as we found out later. But in the meantime, we were left to try and figure out what was happening on our own. The planetary governor at this point was sweating bullets, his skin was deathly pale, and he was stuttering. He tried to dispute the claims at first before Jarod cut him off, saying that the family that lived here was one that actually threatened the governor's power. The arrival of the Inquisition was just a convenient excuse to get rid of them.

At this point, the governor was on his knees begging for mercy. None of us were really sure what to do, and considering the Inquisitor, the Space Marine, and everyone else had decided to watch from the sidelines, we decided we'd do the same. We watched the bald man grovel at Jarod's feet in tears, begging to do anything to resolve his transgressions. Jarod put a finger to his lips and shushed the man, before telling him that the only way to fix his problem was to resign as governor and to give the position to the man who owned this house.

The governor's eyes were wide, and the expression on his face was one of shock and fear. He slumped back on his knees, his shoulders going slack as his jaw fell. The man was speechless, and at least to the majority of us, we got our first real example of what Jarod was capable of doing. When the governor didn't move to get up and leave, Jarod gestured to the two guardsmen in his retinue. The two men moved forward, lifting the governor to his feet before dragging him off.

We all stared at Jarod, some of us more slack-jawed than others. We were severely taken off guard when Jarod did a quick spin on his heel and turned to us.

"So, who wants to hunt some Tyranids?"

[-]

 **AN: And with this, we have the begging of Jarod's own personal Arc! I'll probably conclude the Necron arc either next chapter or sometime after, but for now, this is what my brain has been enjoying writing. Michael won't be appearing in this Arc either, though the reasons for that will be explained in the next chapter of this arc.**


	37. Chapter 37

One of the most interesting things most of us noticed about the building we were using as a base of operations was the amount of effort that Interrogator Jarod put into making it a veritable fortress. Once Tink and Twitch had set up most of our perimeter defenses Sarge had taken the opportunity to go check out the living arrangements that Jarod had set up for himself and his own retinue, with Doc and Twitch following him. Nubby wanted to come too but the rest of us convinced him that it was probably a bad idea. While we weren't necessarily _against_ stealing from the other interrogator, it'd make a poor first impression.

We were surprised to find that they were almost as extensive as ours, with the only major difference being the lack of tripwires. Immediately Twitch began ranting on the lack of said tripwires, right up until we ran into Jarod himself, who seemed to be grinning.

Twitch asked why he was so smug, and why he hadn't put up any tripwires. Jarod explained that while our group and himself were accustomed to stepping over tripwires, the pair of guardsmen he'd brought were not. And he doubted the space marine would be at all amused to have to step over such devices anyway.

That seemed to satisfy Twitch somewhat, surprising the rest of us. Despite his own views on the matter, Twitch admitted that soldiers unused to such defensive tactics were at a higher risk of injury and that Jarod wasn't wrong in setting up his base the way he had. Once we'd gotten over the fact that the new interrogator had managed to reason with Twitch somehow, we asked him what his plans for the near future were.

We didn't get much in the way of instructions from Karev, other than the fact that there was supposed to be a genestealer cult on the planet somewhere. Jarod clapped his hands and grinned, a gesture that in hindsight, we should have dreaded.

He explained that he had been working with Karev for a while and that even though he wasn't _technically_ an Inquisitor, he about had the power of one. He explained that yes, there was a genestealer cult on the planet, but it was secondary to another objective. Apparently, there was a legend on the planet that they had once been visited by the Grey Knights. He paused, and while we assumed that was supposed to mean something at the time, we didn't find out till much later.

Anyway, at the time Jarod seemed surprised at our lack of reaction, before slapping his forehead, muttering something about "Stupid secret space marine chapters…"

He went on to explain that the Grey Knights were a top-secret branch of the Ordo Malleus, and were exclusives focused on dealing with daemons. The fact that this planet had legends about them meant that whenever they had come here, something had to have gone horribly wrong for them to not bother with their usual form of secrecy.

Doc asked what their normal brand of secrecy was. Jarod told him that it usually involved either sterilizing the planet's population or Exterminatus.

Sufficiently convinced that we were now dealing with _something_ beyond the norm - if 'normal' was even a valid concept for us anymore - we asked what this had to do with our own mission. Jarod explained that it was going to be our job to act as a distraction. That's why we'd been told about the Genestealers in advance because that was what we were going to be dealing with in the meantime.

Meanwhile, Jarod and his retinue were going to try and find what kind of link this planet held to the Grey Knights, and what had happened to keep them from wiping out the planet's population. Sarge asked why he was telling us all this if it was top secret information. He responded with a smirk that made us all feel admittedly uneasy.

"Because I'm pretty sure you're all sick of not needing to know this kind of information." He said.

While we didn't disagree, most of us went a little stiff as he talked. We'd been in the same building for less than a day and he was already he was picking apart our likes and dislikes. Leaving the thought for another day, Sarge asked him how he and the Inquisitor wanted us to deal with the genestealer cults in the meantime.

Jarod explained that there were a few cities that had been influenced by the genestealers, the one we were all currently in being the likeliest one. He said it was up to us how to handle finding out where the cultists were hiding, and how to deal with them. He explained that, again, the genestealers were a secondary objective, and that while it was important in its own right, he'd rather us not deal with the cults immediately, at least not until he had found some good enough evidence to support the grey knights visiting the planet.

To sarge, that translated to; "Handle it, but take your time."

Which sounded like a pretty good deal to the rest of us.

[-]

The first place we decided to investigate was one of the bars. Sarge, Nubby and Doc were the ones that went to go mingle with the patrons while the rest of us worked on other, more conspicuous parts of our work. Tink made sure to run his drone over the city, trying to keep an eye on anyone suspicious coming into or leaving the bar. The main giveaways would have been robes, third arms, or fangs. We weren't altogether convinced Tink would find anything, but it never hurt to try.

Twitch was who we had assigned to keep an eye Tink, though he mostly just kept pointing out suspiciously Orky looking Patrons and demanding they be followed. He never found anything though, as most of them turned out to just be especially gruff construction workers.

Inside the bar itself, the rest of us were trying to work out among the Patrons just how we might find the cult. Nubby leaned toward the shadier parts of the bar, Doc kept trying to keep away from the glares many of the Patrons shot his way, while Sarge seemed more intent on interrogating anyone he thought might have any amount of information we might need.

Now, to Sarge's credit, he did manage to keep it quiet, with only four outbursts of pained screaming ringing out through the bar. Luckily there weren't any explosions.

We were there for about three hours before Sarge rounded everyone up and we headed back to the base and consolidate our information.

Tink and Twitch had been unable to verify any of the Patrons as Genestealers or cultists, so that wasn't really all that helpful. Doc had only gotten aggressive glares whenever he tried to talk to anyone, and Sarge's interrogation techniques, while admittedly good, hadn't revealed any information about where the cult might be located. He found out that it existed of course, as one of the people he interrogated was apparently thinking about joining but hadn't been able to _find_ where they were located. Sarge's interrogation had thoroughly discouraged his inclination.

Nubby turned out to be the most successful in his information gathering. According to him, the Cult had been driving the majority of the major crime syndicates into the ground, more often than not acting as vigilantes. The large-scale crime was at an all-time low in the city thanks to the cult, who apparently used their reputation to gain members from the people who got screwed over by the law and its oversight.

If nothing else, it would make cutting them out hard to justify to the common citizen.

Nubby had gotten a location, fortunately enough. A warehouse on the opposite side of the city that had been abandoned for years had been showing signs of activity for a while now, and no one had been successful in trying to break in and find out what was going on. The rest of us tried to ignore how he knew no one had been able to break in.

With the moon high in the sky, we decided to take a break for the night. None of us had noted that Jarod and his crew were missing, and we really only noticed when the group came in at some ungodly hour of the morning waking everyone up. The first thing we noticed about was the haggard look of the guardsmen and the dried blood that covered everyone's armor, including the space marine. Most of us knew better than to ask questions. Tink wasn't most of us.

"What the hell happened to you?"

Jarod sent us a glare, before explaining that apparently word had gotten around that some guardsmen had been asking about the local genestealer cult. Apparently, Jarod and the guardsmen had been attacked by genestealers, and the only reason everyone had come back in one piece was thanks to Calivar hiding close by.

Tink was about to ask how he had managed to hide a space marine before he was smacked upside the head by Sarge.

Sarge apologized for the inconvenience, using what little of his diplomacy classes had actually stuck in his head. Fortunately for newly christened Interrogator, Jarod just waved him off and told him to be more careful. Walking over he handed Sarge a data-slate that he explained had been on the body of one of the cultists that had attacked him. From what little he had gleaned from the device himself, there was going to be a meeting later on in the week in order to recruit several new members.

After giving us that information, Doc asked how his own mission was going. He explained that it was moving slowly, primarily due to the fact that even if the Grey Knights didn't wipe all trace of their involvement from the system, then there still wouldn't be much information about them. And the fact that they had been jumped by a group of cultists hadn't helped matters.

Most of winced at the remark, but no one denied that we had probably screwed up. Looking back on it, we probably should have been more suspicious about why the other Interrogator had been so… _nice_ to us. In the end, though it didn't really matter all that much. He had his job and we had ours, and it was easy enough for us to stay out of each other's way.

Once he and the other guardsmen went to sleep, we worked out a plan to deal with the incoming raid on the warehouse. The idea to not raid the place came up, but it was shot down almost immediately when Twitch pointed out that none of us were really good at subtlety. After a bit of arguing we decided to try and get the local PDF or Arbites to come out and help. If we couldn't convince them the good old fashioned way, Sarge could just wave his pretty Rossette around and we'd be golden.

The plan wasn't perfect, and we acknowledged the fact that we probably wouldn't be very popular if we put down one of the major peace-keeping organizations in the city, but they were also vigilantes that took the law into their own hands. They also worshipped giant evil space bugs, which, if we weren't careful, would come down and eat every single last speck of biomass on the planet.

Yeah, we were fairly sure we had the moral high ground on this one.

[-]

 **AN: Bleh, I suck at writing characters. On one hand I'm glad to have a bit more in the way of characters, and the Guardsmen do give me a certain amount of pleasure to write, but on the other… I have way too many ideas, and making them into a cohesive narrative really isn't feasible, so I've had to toss more than one in the bin. Here's hoping I can work out a way to make everything work.**


	38. Chapter 38

Jarod winced as he stared at the burning husk that had once been the truck he'd been using as transportation and decided that such a vehicle probably wasn't the best thing to take into enemy territory. Granted, it hadn't _been_ enemy territory twenty minutes ago, but that was beside the point.

"Jakob, you still alive?" he asked. Of the two Guardsmen, he'd brought along as his retinue, Jakob was the one he trusted during field missions. Harper was good for overwatch and defensive action, as well as setting up a good base defense (he was the one who had managed to impress Twitch after all) but he wasn't all that great at thinking on his feet.

"In one piece, Sir." Jakob answered, kicking the remains of a car door out of his way, "For now, at the very least."

Jarod nodded, "Any idea where that rocket came from?"

Jakob shook his head, "No idea, but I'd guess some of the locals have caught onto us. The Gene-cult, maybe?" he asked.

"Probably. The other Interrogator and his team are in the process of storming the base as we speak if everything went according to plan." Which, as Jarod had learned a long time ago, never happened.

"'All according to plan'? Sir, I didn't think you believed such a thing was possible."

Jarod chuckled, "I don't, at least not with Xenos. That's probably what killed our truck. Speaking of which, duck."

"Duck-? frak!" Jakob said, getting down just in time to avoid the hail of auto-gun fire that rained down on them.

Jarod managed to get behind the remains of the vehicle while Jakob found himself dug into the trench. Peaking above the wreck, Jarod saw that the hail of bullets was coming from the third story window of a building a little less than a block away. He could make out the vague outline of the person firing it, and with practiced motions, drew on the power of the warp. Lighting, while not necessarily difficult, still wasn't his preferred method of using his powers. Instead, he manifested a ball of white fire - to the Ecclesiarchy, should he ever end up in their good graces, would classify it as a gift from the Emperor.

Jarod just called it warp-fire.

Poking up from his hideout, Jarod threw the ball of fire toward his target, the ball of warp energy ignoring all laws of physics or gravity, sailing right into the window and blowing out the entire room. Glass rained down onto the street below and the corpse of their assailant fell with it.

"Well, not a bad show don't you think?" Jarod remarked.

Jakob just shook his head as he climbed out of the ditch, hefting his lasgun back onto his shoulder. The two of them made their way over to the corpse that had fallen, it's back charred and burned, with bits of cloth still on fire. Jarod flipped the body over with a kick and instantly recognized the Xenos heritage. While not overly obvious, the thin hair and ridges on the forehead gave away the secret of the genestealer DNA infesting them. On another planet, with no possibility of a gene-cult at play, such mutations might be ignored, but with the presence of said cult? And the fact that they were brazen enough to try and attack an Interrogator?

Jarod wasn't going to leave anything up to chance.

"So, they're out in the open now. Open rebellion do you think?" Jakob asked. He received his answer with the sound of an explosion, and multiple alarms sounding, "Open rebellion, then."

Jarod grunted, "We need to get out of here, rendezvous with Calivar, and get in contact with the other interrogator." He said, before placing a finger to the vox-bead on his temple, "Calivar, this is Jarod, how are things on your end? Because ours just went to crap."

A second passed, and the space marine answered, _"I have located the ruins the locals spoke of, and have identified many of the markings on them. Many of them have been destroyed or worn down by time, but I believe they are Chaotic in nature. There is a path leading up to a set of caves, I was about to approach when you called."_

Jarod hummed, "Alright, I'll make a note of that. In the meantime, I think the All Guardsmen Party just did an oops and set off the rebellion early. How soon do you think you can get back into the city?" he asked.

" _I can return to the city limits within a quarter of an hour. I am unaware of your current location, however, so it may take me longer to reach you."_ Calivar responded.

"Alright then, just get here as soon as you can. We're in the fourth housing district right now, but that'll change pretty soon. Just follow the fireworks."

" _Understood. Emperor be with you."_

And with that, the transmission cut off. Jarod turned to face Jakob, "You think you can hotwire a car?" he asked.

"Eh, only done it once or twice. Though the local patterns may cause a bit of a fuss." he offered.

Jarod grinned, "Good, 'cause I think the other's are gonna need us over there pretty soon."

[-]

Calivar eyed the caves where the path led, cursing the luck of the other Interrogator and his entourage. If he'd had more time, he might have gotten closer to finding out what had happened to the Grey Knights that had come to the planet.

He still had a hard time believing that the Grey Knights had left the planet untouched. He'd never seen them himself, hadn't even heard of them before he had gone through the ancient records kept in the Fang, but he knew that they almost always left empty worlds in their wake. Jarod had agreed with his assessment but had stated that almost nothing ever went according to plan. Whether it was a simple reallocation of resources, or dealing with luck better suited to that of the Lamenters chapter of space marines, something always went wrong.

In the case of the grey knights, it seemed as though something had gone wrong indeed.

Turning away from the ruins, he mounted the bike provided to him by the Inquisitor. He sped forward, the engine of the machine revving as it's machine spirit hungered for speed. He tracked across the green and brown landscape of the world, driving over rough terrain for a minute or so before he was able to get onto the main road. Almost immediately he saw a problem.

Smoke rose from the horizon, and when he was close enough to the city to see, he witnessed a large barricade blocking off the city entrance. Dozens of men lined the hastily constructed battlements, with mounted auto-guns and heavy stubbers aimed down the road. Mines lay on the surface of the track, ready to detonate when depressed. Armor based mines, by the look of them, big and heavy, meant to disable tanks or APCs.

He was soon spotted, the defenders scrambling to their positions, mounting and loading the guns as quickly as possible. Traitors, then. That made thing's easier.

Caliver drew the bolt pistol from his side and aimed it forward. He was out of range of the enemy, but not the mines. He pulled the trigger on the weapon, the rocket-propelled projectile racing forward toward the explosive. The adamantium tipped round struck home, and the internal explosive set off the larger payload within the mine itself, causing the ground to crack and dust to fly into the air. He repeated the process again, twice, three times more, showering the road in debris and dust.

The defenders could not see him, and that was an advantage he was more than willing to take. His bike entered the dust field, the engine choking on the particles in the air, but continuing on all the same. A second before he reached the barricade, he drew his power sword and activated it, a blue glow covering the weapon's blade. He lept from the bike, the machine screaming forward and crashing through the barricade, startling the defenders. It spun out quickly enough, crashing to the ground well past the barricade.

The defenders cursed when they realized that Calivar was not on the bike itself and turned back to the cloud of dust. Their eyes scanned the haze of dust, trying to pick out where the space marine had gone. One of their number, a bald man with purple ridges clearly visible along his forehead took a visor up to his eyes in order to try and see through the debris. He didn't see anything at first, but he did notice a sound.

Footsteps. They thundered in the cloud dust, and just as he removed the visor, he found the massive black armored space marine emerging from the cloud, his weapon crackling with energy even as it severed the half-breeds head from his shoulders.


End file.
